Meeting the Legends
by BrokenKestral
Summary: "[Caspian] was liking Peter very much, but was rather tongue-tied. It was much stranger for him to meet the great Kings out of the old stories than it was for them to meet him." A collection of the stories the nurse told Caspian, and (eventually) how he felt when he met the legends, and became a legend himself.
1. Prologue

For the Blond Caspian Rebellion, if they'll accept it. One of the members told me about the challenge to write stories about the book-verse Caspian-and this is what sprang to mind.

Disclaimer: Narnia, Caspian, and the legends that remain untold are not mine, and perhaps not even mine to tell, but I hope that someone who loved stories as much as Lewis did would not mind me spinning my own.

OOOOO

"Much of their time together, Morgan simply told stories. She told of faeries and spells, of strange creatures, of men and women who travel easily between worlds and were consequently considered wizards and magicians. 'Remember that, Lynet,' Morgan said. 'What is called magic in the World of Men is called that only because it does not belong there.' [...] Gradually Lynet came to realize that Morgan's stories all had their reasons, though she was not able to put every story's lesson into words. She said as much to Morgan, and the enchantress nodded briefly. 'In this world, almost everything is taught with stories.'"

-Gerald Morris, _The Savage Damsel and the Dwarf_

OOOOO

Caspian was a few minutes old when he heard _Narnia_ for the first time; his panting mother laid her head against his invisible blond hair and whispered to him, _Welcome, my next king of Narnia_. And he cried in response, for he was a child, and had just left his mother's womb for a world he felt was cold and bright and overwhelming. And his mother held and hushed him, whispering to him of his father, his family, and Narnia.

 _Narnia_.

His father died when he was still a child, and his mother withdrew. He cried and cried for her, the one who whispered to him of Narnia and love and family, and he would not stop. At last his aunt, lips pursed disapprovingly, told the servants to get him a nurse and stop his unkingly crying.

The nurse was short, extremely old in the three-year-old's eyes, and had kind eyes and wrinkly, kind hands that picked up Caspian without hesitation and tried to hush his crying. She patted his back, stroked his hair, and picked up his toys to show him. He liked her-but not enough to stop crying.

Not until she told him stories.

She carried him to the closest chair, sat him against her, and lowered her voice. "Once upon a time," she began…


	2. Chapter 1 - A Talking Cat

Chapter One: A Talking Cat

Disclaimer: the legends of Narnia, its cats, and its people could never belong to me, though I'm happy they're shared with me.

"Once upon a time the animals of Narnia spoke. The cats," she said, pointing towards the cat in front of the nursery fire, and the young prince looked over and stopped crying, his interest caught by the soul-baring stare of the animal, "would wish you 'Good morning,' with grave politeness, the horses would tell you, even you, young prince, to sit up straighter, and the birds would bring you all the morning news, landing on your windowsill and singing of the goings on of Narnia. And there was one day," and her voice dropped even lower, noting the prince's interest, "when a talking cat was very, very important to Narnia."

OOOOO

It was spring—it was warm out, my prince. Every morning the sun heated the world with his golden gaze, and the Naiads—beautiful women and men who lived in the water—sunned and splashed in his light. And the Dryads—the people who lived in the trees—came and asked for water from the Naiads and were given it, and their leaves grew long and green. The birds that spoke hopped on their branches, and the squirrels that couldn't be stopped from speaking ran along them, and all was well.

In the middle of all this happiness and goodness was a cat named Almeh, a cat who liked walking from place to place and watching all that happened. He liked to watch the birds—what? No, my prince, he didn't try to catch them. Not the ones that spoke. He caught the ones that didn't speak, because they were given for food, but the others he listened to—and most importantly, they listened to him. He would collect news from every bird he heard, and it became known through the forest that if you had a question about anyone in the forest, just ask Almeh, because he probably knew the answer. If you didn't wake him up from his naps, that is. Like most cats, he was grumpy if you woke him at the wrong time. Just like when you woke Herla from her nap, and she scratched you! So if you saw Almeh sleeping, you sat and waited patiently for him to wake up, then asked your question. And he would politely answer you, and ask for all the news you had.

But one morning soon after spring began, he heard birds talking. They said they had seen something enormous—as big as the room where your uncle sits on his big chair! And it was blue, and it moved as fast as they could fly. And Almeh, hearing this, decided with the curiosity of a cat, that he would go and see it for himself. And he politely asked the birds for directions, climbed up a tree (for the birds gave directions that only led somewhere if you could see up high, you know), and walked along Narnia's branches, asking the kind Naiads in the trees to move them for him when he needed. And so he got closer and closer to where the birds had been, and he heard a noise. Such a noise! It was as if the lords fighting in the courtyard were splashing in the water as well as fighting each other, and his ears pricked straight up—just like Herla's did, look! and he bounded forward, four paws at once, till he reached the cliff the birds had spoken of. He looked over, and what do you think he saw?

No, not lords in armor, my prince, but a wall of water, as high as the castle wall from the outside, so high my hand couldn't even reach it, see! And it was sweeping forward, over the tops of trees, rolling down the valley with mighty crashes, headed right for the place where the Dryads and Naiads met! As fast as he had come, faster, faster than Herla falling down the stairs and landing on her feet, Almeh jumped from the tree and ran along the ground, heart pounding, breath coming in and out, in and out, like this, every one hurting, as he ran to the valley where the wall of water was coming. The cliff got lower and lower, till he jumped from the height to the tops of the trees below, claws out, scratching, pawing, grabbing the air and bark and leaves, till he slowed his fall and landed on his feet, and ran again! And he ran to the river-god nearby—the Naiad to whom the river belonged—and stopped at the bank and _yowled_ —the loudest cat's cry—and screamed for the river-god to hear him. And the river-god rose, rushes on his head, dripping water politely away from the cat, and the cat told him of the coming wall of water. And quickly the river-god called the Naiads, and they deepened their streams, their rivers, the trenches where the water ran, and the Dryads dug in their roots and bent their trees, and with the rustling of their leaves warned the birds and squirrels and fauns, all who lived in the valley, and they fled, scooping up Almeh who was panting for breath as they ran, and climbed up the cliff, and watched as the wall of water fell on the valley, splash! Fell in the streams, in the river, in the deepened trenches, as the ground absorbed water and the wave became smaller and spread further, growing shorter, and shorter, and shorter, till it was my height, young prince! And then shorter still, and it was yours, and at last the water stopped and stilled, and the dryads bent it towards other rivers, and no lives were lost that day, because of the curiosity of a cat, and his desire to go and see.

OOOOO

By then the prince had hushed, wide-eyed, and his nurse breathed a small sigh of relief. She looked at him more closely, and her heart ached, for she saw in his eyes the waiting, the wonder that led to expectant hope, that had had her waiting all her life.

But he was soon distracted, and jumped down, taking her hand, beginning to babble to her of cats and water and trees, and she smiled and took him out to see them, as Almeh had went and seen the world, and beneath the leaves of the trees told him what the Dryads within them would look like, the difference between birch and beech. And she prayed, Aslan keep him safe, because I'm telling Your stories to the future king. And she looked at him and wondered what story she could tell Caspian tomorrow, when all was quiet and no one was listening. Perhaps she could tell him of the four?


	3. Chapter 2 - The Tale of a King's Courage

Disclaimer: as the tale retold here is part of the first Lewis wrote, it is quite obviously not mine; nor are the characters; I only love them. I hope this brings joy to others who love them as well.

Chapter Two: The Tale of a King

The next morning the prince woke early, bright-eyed and running to the door for his absent mother. His nurse, used to handling children, gave him breakfast instead, washing his face thoroughly of crumbs afterwards. Again, he ran to the door, calling "Mom?" through the heavy wood. The nurse looked at him and grieved; his mother had not come to him the day before, and she guessed he would grow up without one. She reached and took his hand, leading him to his nursery. He sat on the floor and looked towards the door, waiting. She looked too; but it remained shut, the hall outside silent. Gradually he began to cry, and she took him to the window and asked him what the dryad would look like in the tree growing right underneath them, keeping an ear all the time for footsteps in the hall that might bring ears to hear forbidden subjects. Gradually the prince's tears dried ("Brown hair! Brown!" "Nay, my prince, it would be green, long and flowing.") As a footstep sounded in the hall she hushed the child hastily, glancing towards the door. The footsteps went on without pause. She set the golden-haired boy down and he ran happily to his toys; she went wearily to a chair. Aslan, she was too afraid for this. "Cat story?" he asked when she sat down, coming to her knee to look at her with expectant eyes, and she realised she'd chosen the same chair they'd sat in before. A story chair, apparently.

She didn't want to deny him; it might be what Aslan placed her here for, while she continued waiting for Him. She took the future king on her lap to tell him a Narnian story.

But not the cat story.

"No, my prince, I shall tell you another tale, for I think we both have need of courage…"

OOOOO

Once, long ago, my prince, a queen was ruling—what? A queen. A girl king. Yes, my prince—girls can be kings. They are called queens, and this queen was a queen from your darkest nightmares; nay, mine, for yours are not dark enough to picture her. She lived in a different castle, one I hope has been torn down, stone from stone, till all that is left is a huge pile of stones. Yes, my prince, a _huge_ pile—one I would not dare to let you climb. Come back, little one, that shelf is not meant for climbing either. Don't you want to hear the story? The castle the queen lived in was tall, and made almost entirely of towers, small towers with pointed caps, with spikes like the Calormenes wear. Calormenes? The dark people in your uncle's court, with white cloth on their heads, and metal in the middle. They don't come often, do they? But her castle had towers like their helmets.

Everyone who came to the castle left crying, my prince, or growling like your hunting dogs after a rabbit. It's all right, my prince, I'm here, and the dogs won't get you. But the queen wasn't very nice, and she turned everyone around her evil as well. She hated good things, so she made it always winter—snow and ice and cold, so cold you'd want your entire family to squeeze you tight, like this. There was never an end to snow, never flowers, never warm days like now. The true ruler of Narnia was more golden and good than the sun in that window, my prince, but this queen was evil, cold, and white. She was called the White Witch, and all either feared her, hated her, or both.

She ruled for a long, long time, as long as three kings. And all the kings who heard of her feared her, for she had magic powers and a cruel will. But the true ruler was waiting, for he would not allow her to keep his Narnia, and so he brought, by his power, a little girl into it.

Yes, a girl. No, she wasn't a queen—not yet. Just a little girl like you, my prince, only a little older. But she fell in love with Narnia, your Narnia—and my Narnia. She met a faun—what? Oh, a faun, a small man with feet and legs like a goats, and two little horns on his forehead—right here. He had a tail, my prince, long like horse's but furry like a dog's, and a red muffler round his neck. And he told her about the wicked White Witch and the endless winter. And though he did bad things, my prince, he saved her and kept her safe, and took her back to where she could go to her family. And later, because she loved Narnia, she came back, and she brought with her one sister and two brothers, older than she. And the true ruler of Narnia came back to his lovely land and saved one of her brothers, and broke up the ice, and melted the snow, and brought all four children together and readied them to fight.

Because, my prince, the winter was gone, but the witch remained, and she was still cruel, and still had power. She wanted death, my prince, the death of every good thing, of all your good animals, and the good people, and so she brought all the evil people to her side and made an army—a huge army.

Just think of that, my prince! All the scary people, howling and screaming and yelling for the good people to die, and set against her was a small army, one led by two boys. They were scared, my prince, and uncertain, for they did not know if they could lead. But because they loved the true ruler, and wanted to do what was right—no matter the cost—they stayed, and they fought. And one of the boys, just a little older than you! ran right up to the witch and broke her wand, so that she could not work her magic anymore, cutting it right in half, snap! Just like that, with his sword in hand. But she hated him for that, and hurt him—hush, my prince, he will be fine, I promise—because his older brother came to his rescue and fought the witch, so she couldn't hurt his brother or his Narnian people anymore. A boy, my prince—after all the kings around her were scared of her, a boy fought her. And the true ruler of Narnia came, leading a larger army, and swept into the battle and killed the witch. And he rewarded the courage of the two boys who fought by making them kings—the first Narnian kings in two hundred years. And the one who was hurt, his sister, the first one who came to Narnia and met the faun, came to him and healed him with her Christmas present. But that, my little one, is a tale for another time, for I would have to tell you how the White Witch stopped Christmas, and how Aslan himself brought it back.

OOOO

As the nurse said her beloved ruler's name, the prince turned to look at her, and her heart and breathe paused at his expression. He looked like he'd seen his mother with her arms held out. He hugged her then, and the golden head nestled against her, content in the happiness Aslan's name had given him.

Her arms gently held him back and she thought, Oh, my prince, if I did not know you were Aslan's own before, I do now. Only His own love His name like that.

And you made me say it, and I needed to hear it. His name alone is cause for courage. May He give us both courage for the years ahead.


	4. Chapter 3 - Aslan Brought Back Christmas

Chapter Three: How Aslan Brought Back Christmas

Response to Guest Review: thank you so much, Anonymousme, for pointing out my mistake with the Naiads and Dryads in chapter two; that's been corrected, and I'm so glad it's right now.  
To clarify, Almeh is not Aslan, he's a general talking cat who had an adventure. I'm not quite sure how the nurse heard about him, but I'm rather glad she did. This will be book-verse-I only watched LLW movie, not the other two, so the book is all I draw from. And since I only have the books, I've never found a hint of Susan or Lucy and Caspian-just the Star's daughter. :)

OOOOO

Disclaimer: The tales the nurse told were told first by someone else, and belong to him, and I'm so very thankful he shared them. Merry Christmas.  
A/N: All thing underlined are direct quotes from Lewis's incredible works, and are even less mine than the rest of it.

"though (being a prince) [Caspian] had wonderful toys which would do almost anything but talk, he liked best the last hour of the day when the toys had all been put back in their cupboards and Nurse would tell him stories."

The mornings were getting better, the nurse noticed. The blonde prince would run to his polished low wooden table, not the door, and wait expectantly for breakfast. And he would chatter happily all throughout breakfast, of the toys he played with, the things he'd done, and, sometimes, him mom and dad.

And after they went to his nursery he'd remember his mom more—he brought his nurse a beautifully carved horse once, with real black hair and legs that moved, ears pricked up and head held high. As she stroked it he told her "Mom's favorite!" and corrected the way she was holding it, trying persistently to get her to play with it like his mother had. And so she played as best she could, looking at the bright happiness of the prince and wishing his mother could see it too—for happiness is meant to be shared.

She played, and told him stories of the horses who'd been taken to Calormen and escaped, and warned Narnia and Archenland of invading armies ("Think how fast they rode, my prince!"), and galloped the horse across her lap as she did.

But his favorite part, the part where his eyes got bigger, first with fear and then with joy, was when Aslan Himself came into the tale and said He'd been all the lions.

And the next day, as they were walking down the cold stone halls to go outside, and her wrinkled face was smiling and nodding as they passed servants and knights, holding the prince's tiny hand in hers, the prince suddenly tugged at her. When she looked down to his tiny height, he said "'lan?"

"What, my prince?" Two nearby servants stopped to smile at him.

"Lan!"

She still didn't catch it; the servants were listening with heads tilted as well. "A pan, my prince? For cooking? We're going outside to see your horses, as you requested."

"No, _Slan!_ " He was tugging her down to his height by now, insisting she understand. "Slan!" He looked around in frustration, then back at her. "Big cat!"

Her wrinkles dug deeper, fear on the face that only faced the prince. _Aslan._ Here, in the middle of a hall, with two servants listening in—two servants who were laughing.

"'E's naming the cats!" one chortled. "And he named it _Pan_!"

"It'll be a kitchen cat, to be sure! Wonder if it's the big black one? We'll have to tell cook we've finally found a name, given by the prince himself!" She reached down, unhooking one arm from under the laundry she was carrying to ruffle the prince's hair—the prince, who was scowling at them for laughing. He lost his scowl as her touch gentled, however, and smiled up at her, and the nurse's heart slowly unclenched.

They hadn't heard what she had.

They hadn't heard what he _meant_.

So she nodded her head at the two, a smile of relief slowly lifting her face, as she straightened up and led the prince further down the stone floor.

"Later, my prince," she whispered, once they were out of earshot, past even where echoes would reach back from the stone. The prince looked at her, her scowl coming back. "Later there will be time to tell stories of Aslan. But not now." And the prince's scowl lightened as he realised he was understood, and he started skipping again.

But she knew she had problem to fix, so later, perhaps an hour before sunset, when they were back in the nursery and the hall was quiet, she sat down in "the story chair" and the prince dropped both his toys (one from each hand) and ran to her. She shook her head and stood up, and had him put all his toys away before sitting down again with him on her knee.

"There's a time for stories, my prince—a special time. Stories can be told when we're sad, to make us happy, or when we're afraid, to give us courage, but most of the time, stories should be told right before bed, when things are clean and we've become quieter. So I want you to wait, my prince—waiting is good for everyone, but especially for princes—wait till evening for your stories, and learn to live and run and love things during the day. Is it well, my prince? Good. Now, it is evening, and you are quiet, and the room is clean, so I shall tell you a story. Perhaps a story about time...a special time Aslan made.

There is a time for everything, little one; for winning, and for losing; for going away, and for coming home; for playing with toys," she added firmly, "and for telling stories. And I will tell you, my prince, of a special time Aslan created, a time for giving gifts and sharing joy in the midst of the coldest, hardest part of the year. Hmm? Yes, my prince—Christmas."

OOOOO

No one knows, my prince, where Christmas was first created. Legend said it once started in another world, that our great Lion took an evil thing and made it good, and strangers who walked between worlds through doors, even our own ancestors, brought the idea of Christmas with them, to brighten and warm the coldest months where you want to snuggle down in your coat and your nurse's arms and peek out at the torches and colored glass lanterns. But Aslan Himself approved of the idea, and He must have decided that Christmas needed a little help in Narnia—or rather a big help, because he made a person so big, and so glad, and so real, to help with Christmas every year in Narnia and Archenland. His name is Father Christmas. Where is he? No one knows, my prince—no one has seen him in a long time. No one here, at least. Perhaps, if somewhere in the corners of the earth, animals still talk, and Aslan Himself still visits! What? Sorry, my prince. I did not mean to hold you so tightly. There, I will kiss it better. Perhaps there, if those corners exist, Father Christmas still comes. I've heard he is a huge man in a bright red robe, bright as holly-berries, my prince. And it has a hood, with fur inside, and a great white beard that falls like a foamy waterfall over his chest.

What? No, my prince, he is not scary, for one look at his face, and you know he comes to bring joy and good things—good things that perhaps Aslan Himself told Father Christmas were needed. Do you remember the White Witch? Yes, the one who _died_. Yes, my prince, that was her! But before she died, when she made it winter and cold, she made it so Father Christmas could never come. No presents, my prince! And no songs, or feasts—where all the good food is made in the kitchen and cook lets you taste things on the spoon, I've heard it said—do you remember? None of that happened. She hated it. She did not want people to get Aslan's gifts, and so she stopped the person who gave them.

But when Aslan, the true ruler of Narnia, came back, Father Christmas came with Him, and suddenly the cold months were warmed by food and joy and _presents_ again. And they were not wrapped, as yours are, in silk and cloth, but hidden in a big bag that he carries on his back. He had to be a big person, you see, because the bag was so big, and he carries it with him everywhere, to give the good things out of. Think how busy he must have been, my prince! After Christmastime had not come for so long, he had so much to give when it was Christmastime again! A very, very special time. He went to the talking foxes, and squirrels, and I'm sure he must have stayed a long time because the squirrels had to thank him so much, and satyrs and dwarves. And what do you think he gave them, my prince? No, not toys. Guess again. No, not pets—I do not know if squirrels or foxes like having pets. One more guess? Can you think of anything? There is no need to shout, my prince—and no, I am sorry, it was not a horse. Aslan gave foxes and squirrels four feet of their own, so I do not imagine they would ride horses. No, my prince, he gave them food, because they were hungry, and warm things to drink, because they were cold, and beautiful bright berries and leaves, because they had not seen beautiful things in so, so long. Just think if you were blind, my prince! If I put my hands over your eyes, like this, all the time, and you couldn't see any flowers or trees! There, when I take my hands away, aren't you happy to see them again? And so Father Christmas sped throughout Narnia on his sleigh, with brown reindeer pulling it, giving out Aslan's gifts to all the people who loved Aslan.

And one of his stops was a special story, my prince, that got told to the two boys and two girls many years later. There was one owl, a girl owl named Relttera, called "Rel" by her family, who didn't want food or drink or beautiful things for Christmas. She wanted hope. Most owls slept during the day, but not Rel. An owl? An owl is a big bird, with big eyes, and a funny head that can turn all the way around, like this! We cannot really do it, but they can. And they fly, with warm, feathery wings, and they speak in a funny way too, and say "Tu-whoo! Tu-whoo!" Some said they were big enough to carry you, my prince! To put you on their backs, warm in their feathers, and spread their wings and lift you both away into the sky, up, and up, and up!

But back to the story, my prince. Rel slept partly during the day, and partly at night. No, my prince, you may _not_ do the same. You are not an owl. But she did this, so she could look for other animals hiding in the forest, and talk with them, and ask if they had heard anything about Aslan coming back. She had waited and waited and waited, for a very long time, my prince, for hope. For Aslan to come back. It is why I love her so, because I too—well, never mind. You already love Aslan, don't you, my dear prince? I thought so, little one. And so often we have to wait on Him, and the waiting can go for a very long time. Rel was a young owlette, and so for her the three years of winter she had lived already seemed like a very long time. But she had heard stories—for owls have storytimes too, my prince! Though theirs are usually in the deepest part of the night, when young princes are fast asleep in bed. For young princes are _not_ owls, and cannot fly, or turn their heads backwards, or stay up late at night.

Rel had heard stories of Aslan coming back one day, of winter melting, of the White Witch dying. And she wanted it very, very much. And one day, the very day Father Christmas came back (but she hadn't seen him yet), she was asking Aslan just for wintertime to be over. And she blinked her big owl eyes closed, just like this, and then opened them! Expecting to see winter melted and gone. And instead there was snow, white snow, cold snow, snow everywhere, my prince, as if it was on top of all your toys and the cupboard you put them in, and all the chairs, and the floor, and everything, even my lap! As if you were covered in snow! And Rel blinked a little bit more, and two tears fell from her eyes, past the branch she was sitting on, and hit the snow and turned to ice. And her tears only made more winter, so she shook herself, and was angry at Aslan, and asked why He hadn't melted the snow. Why he hadn't ended wintertime.

And then she heard something. Shhh, listen, my prince. Do you hear it? ding, Ding, DING, **DING** **!** Bells! She heard bells! And carefully, she flew between the branches, turning her owl head this way and that, listening, wondering. Then the bells stopped, and she listened harder, and she heard voices! That couldn't be the White Witch! So she flew faster, harder, and the voices got louder, and she heard someone saying "It's all right! It isn't _her!_ " And she flew so fast she stopped listening, wings held out like this, my prince, flapping up and down, up and down, going this way and that way, inbetween tree branches, not hitting anything. Finally, breathing hard, in and out like this, she landed, and what do you think she saw?

A brown sleigh, with reindeer, and a big man with a big white beard and a red coat. Who do you think that was? That's right! Father Christmas himself. And with him—with him, my prince, were two beavers—big ones, ones that could talk, and three children, a boy and two girls.

Yes, the same ones that helped Aslan free Narnia—that fought the witch. Where was the other boy? That, my prince, is a story for another time. But he wasn't here now, so Rel did not see him. But she saw the others—humans, in Narnia! There weren't many, like there are now; there weren't _any_. And Rel saw them, and scooted closer to the trunk of the tree she was on, hiding next to it, and she watched as Father Christmas gave them their presents. Presents, for the first humans in Narnia in two hundred years!

He gave the boy a sword and shield—the very ones he fought the witch with, a silver shield with a red lion on it, and a sword with a golden hilt. They kept the boy who would be a king safe, as he fought to free Narnia.

Father Christmas gave the older girl a bow and arrows, and horn like your uncle uses for hunting, only better—a magic horn. And she thanked him and stepped back, and Aslan had a plan for those gifts as well. And the youngest girl was given a dagger and a little bottle, shining in the sun. That bottle, my prince, was one of the greatest gifts ever given, for it gives what we love more than anything. Life. It could save anyone who was sick or hurt. Yes, my prince—like your father. Come here, let me hug you. It is a pity we do not have their gifts anymore.

But back then, the three took the gifts, and thanked Father Christmas, and then he gave them what he had given everyone—good food! And they turned and hid, and ate their food, and Rel rested her tired wings, leaned against the tree trunk—here, lean on my, my prince—and thought.

She had wanted springtime. She'd wanted wintertime to be over. But if wintertime had been over, what do you think would have happened to Father Christmas's sleigh? It would have gotten stuck! And no one could have been given Christmas presents. So Rel realised that Aslan had let wintertime stay because he wanted to send good things to His people, good presents in a big red bag. And He'd given her what she wanted most—hope. Hope, because humans were back in Narnia, and so was Father Christmas, and Aslan Himself might not be far behind! So she was happy He'd let Wintertime stay, for a little bit more, because Christmastime now came with it. So Rel smiled, and spread her wings again, and flew home to wake her family and tell them the wonderful Christmas news. And Christmastime rang throughout all of Narnia again.

OOOOO

The nurse looked down and smiled; the prince had fallen asleep, his thumb in his mouth, and his golden curls falling on his forehead. She pushed them away with a gentle hand. Aslan, she thought, protect our storytime. Bring this prince to be a king, Your king, in Your time. And bring Narnia back, someday, to a time of joy and warmth. She rose to put the prince to bed.


	5. Chapter 4 - Why a Narnian Christmas

Chapter Four: Why a Narnian Christmas

Disclaimer: Narnia is only mine in the way Christmas is—I live it, participate in it, and love it, but it could never belong to me.

A/Nx2: I finished filling out the plan for the majority of this tale, and there should be 17-21 chapters, depending on how much I delve into Caspian actually meeting the kings and queens. I have ideas for the rest of the chapters written out—but I would love suggestions, too, if any occur to you. Thank you!

A/N: I updated this about 20 minutes after I published it, because I went to bed and realised that I had a better idea for one paragraph, on why Narnians had the traditions that they had. My apologies to any who read it before that!

Also, I probably won't be posting any stories next week, as I'd like to focus on my family for Christmas. But I will post again either the week after, or two weeks after, depending on how much company we're entertaining for New Years!

Response to Anonymousme: I'm very grateful for you correcting the details; I much prefer stories to be accurate. Another other mistakes you notice, please let me know. I've changed the three things you mentioned, and I thank you for catching them! I actually started writing fanfiction after two stories (Identity and At The Sound of His Roar) of WillowDryad's showed me that fanfiction can be very, very good. From there I found most of the authors you mentioned-thanks for sharing!

OOOOO

The new arrangement worked well, and Caspian's nurse had no more heart-stopping moments in the hallways or rooms of the castle.

And within the heart of Narnia's prince the stories she told took root, and his love for the Old Days grew deeper and deeper.

He grew a little taller, a little older, and capable of asking a lot more questions. Which, of course, led to a lot more stories, ones the nurse was surprised to find she recalled.

Including how Christmas first started.

OOOOO

A long, long time ago, my prince, Narnia itself didn't exist. Didn't exist? Remember when there was no shed to house the hunting dogs, and they slept in the courtyard and in the gardens until Brexta yelled and stormed? Then the carpenters built the shed; before then, before they built it, the shed did not exist. It was the same with Narnia. No, my prince, Narnia was not built out of boards, you cannot dig down in the earth and find them. Aslan and His Father created it, and then, all was dark—put your little hands over your eyes, my prince—there was no sun, and no moon, and no stars. Candles? No, there were no candles, either. No light.

And then, my Prince, Aslan came, and Aslan sang. Not a song like the brave knights when they go hunting, loud and noisy and you cover your ears, nor like the women when they wash the clothes, bubbly and fast, but a deep song, powerful, changing the earth and sky. And the stars came into being with a single second, singing with the voice; and the sun came after it. That was the first gift Aslan gave this world: light. And what do you think the light fell on, my prince?

A group of humans, and a horse. And Aslan Himself. Oh, my prince, He must be beautiful, more beautiful than the sun itself, even when it rose that first morning. But the group that saw Him had not come from Narnia. No, there were other places, older than Narnia itself, and it was from them that this group came, and they saw the first moment the stars were lit, and the first rays of the sun. They saw Aslan's first gift.

Do you want to know a secret, my prince? Narnia's first king, the very first, was in that group of people. He saw Aslan give the second gift—life. Green things sprung up, and flowers, and then animals, too, my prince. Just think, a small hill of dirt, like when you dig and fill your pail, getting larger and larger, but from the _inside_. And then all of the sudden the dirt falls, and it's an animal! No, they couldn't talk then. Wait, my prince, for the rest of the gifts. They come in order. Aslan gave us light, and then Aslan gave us life. All of it comes from Him.

And _then_ He gave us words. Yet another gift—when you speak, my little prince, and when I do as I tell you this story even now—all the words ever said in Narnia, except by that group, started when Aslan Himself commanded Narnians to think, to speak, to love, and to be. And rumor has it, little one, that there are a few types of animals that never once stopped talking since He first taught them to!

And then He gave them Narnia itself, the waters, the stars, the trees, and even Himself. He just made it, and it was beautiful and green and alive, and He gave it away. To us. After giving so much, you wouldn't think there'd be much more to give, would there?

You would? Why, little prince? Yes, my prince, exactly—that's it. Aslan gave all those things to you, and a house and playroom and toys and _me_ besides. Aslan loves His own, little prince, even more than you love me, or I love you. And He loves to give.

Remember the first king, the one who saw the gift of light given? King Frank was his name, that first king. He was a sensible man, a good king. And he loved good things. And in the place he came from, that strange, strange place later known as Spare Oom (the Queen Lucy told us that, my prince), he had a particular tradition he loved. Something he and his queen did every year.

When it grew dark during the year, and Aslan's gift of light grew less, King Frank and Queen Helen would remind themselves of it by place light behind colored glass—to make both light and beauty when it was dark and dreary, like a nighttime when it is too cold to see the stars. And they would eat lots and lots of good food, like we will when Lord Octesian and Lord Bern come back from helping Passarids fight the giants on the Northern Frontier, and all the tables will be filled, and the cooks will work for hours to make food. Every Christmas King Frank and Queen Helen would share this food because food gives us life, and the feast was a reminder that Aslan first gave life to all. And after they ate they would sing, my prince. Beautiful, merry songs, that rang with joy and spoke with powerful words, to remind themselves that Aslan gave us speech. And last, my prince, they would give gifts, to remember two things: how Aslan loved them and gave them many things, and also how Aslan commanded them to love.

OOOOO

She looked down into the rapt eyes of the prince. He was heavy on her lap now, and unless she brought a stool near, her stories would have to be shorter.

"Nurse?"

Definitely shorter, since so many questions now came after. Her knee was aching, and her foot was asleep. "Yes, my prince?"

"You said, Aslan said to love?" He was frowning, his little face scrunched up under his curls, thinking something.

"Yes, my prince. Especially princes and kings, for Aslan gave them much more. All of Narnia is theirs to love."

"I love you." He swung his leg over her other side so he could turn and hug her.

"I love you too, my prince," she said, hugging him back. Both feet could fall asleep if they wished, she decided. As long as she could, she would keep this child in her arms.

"Aslan is happy."

"Yes, my prince, Aslan is very happy when we love."

"Nurse." His still had his thinking frown on.

"Yes?"

"A queen is a girl king?"

"Yes?"

"Queens have to love?"

"Yes, them too, my prince."

"My mother doesn't love me," he said quietly. His eyes were fixed on her, and all that she wanted to say stopped before the waiting question in his eyes, and the sadness.

"Aslan loves you, my prince," she whispered, holding him closer.

He buried his head in her shoulder, holding her tight. "Aslan loves me. He gave me much, much, much."

Oh Aslan, she thought, smoothing his curls, please, for this Your prince of Narnia, give him what he needs. And give him hope and joy this Christmas.

"Nurse?"

"Yes, my dear little one?"

"Aslan gave me you."

"Yes."

"Aslan gave Christmas."

"Yes, my prince."

"Aslan made Father Christmas."

"Yes?"

"Father Christmas, you said, gives what we need?"

"Yes, my prince-whatever we need."

"Maybe he will give my mother love."

She looked down at the face that had popped back out in front of her, a question back in his eyes.

Aslan had wrought a miracle, and brought her to the prince's side. He had caused her to teach the prince, the heir of the Telmarine throne, to love Old Narnia. Who was to say Aslan would not create another, in the heart of the Telmarine Queen?

"I do not know if He will, my prince. But I know that He can." She brought Caspian back into a hug again. "I know that He can."


	6. Chapter 5 - Embracing New Surprises

Chapter Five: Embracing New Surprises

Disclaimer: While the ideas in this tale might be my own, it isn't set in my world-Narnia and all within it are not mine.

A/N: I have no idea how this got so _long_ , but my apologies for that.

Response to Anonymousme: I'm so glad you liked those hints; I enjoy inserting them. I found the story you recommended; I enjoyed it. For Caspian's mother-she changed. Grief changes people, and she is different than what she was (there were reasons her son loved her), and in Aslan's grace, she might change again. Thanks for reviewing!

Christmas came and went, and Caspian's mother didn't come with it. Nor did Father Christmas, but the nurse hadn't really been hoping for him. Caspian was given a new pet, a slender, glossy cat with brown fur. Caspian loved it, talking to it almost as much as his nurse, rubbing his blond hair into the brown fur and always, always asking it to speak. One evening near his bedtime he was laying on the floor, laughing as the cat's (Frank's) tail twitched across his cheek, when the wooden door to the nursery opened, and the queen herself stepped in.

The nurse turned around, a wooden knight she'd meant to put in the cabinet still in her hand, and froze, her gaze running from the tall quiet figure to her prince.

He looked up, his golden smile (she knew it so well) still on his face, and the sound of his laughter vanished mid-laugh. The queen didn't move from her single step inside the doorway, still and quiet with her hand on the door. She was looking at her son.

 _Her_ son. Jealousy was sudden, strong, swirling through the nurse like the cook's spoon in a cauldron of soup, stirring every part of her.

Caspian, though, saw his mother. Jumping up, he was across the room before his nurse remembered to breathe, his arms around the queen's knees, his face buried in her leg. "Momma, Momma, Momma, you're here! Up, up, UP!"

The nurse quietly set the toy down and stepped forward. The queen looked up at her, her blue eyes—Caspian's eyes, he truly was her son—helpless, confused, and yet beautiful and dignified. Queenly. The nurse sank into a curtsy, her bones creaking, suddenly remembering her manners. This was her charge's mother, and Narnia's queen.

She tried not to resent her. But Aslan, it was hard. She looked up again, and the queen was looking from her to Caspian, her hand hesitantly patting his head, the other still bracing open the door.

Mother she may be, the nurse realised, and queen she was, but she was still uncertain. The nurse, remembering the story she'd told Caspian just yesterday after he was impatient to a stableboy—the gracious Queen Susan using manners to stop war—pulled out a chair for the queen.

Just not the story chair. That was hers.

It had to be hers. Hers, and hers alone. Even if Caspian wasn't, the stories had to be.

But the queen smiled, a faint, kind smile, and Caspian took the hand in his hair and tugged her forward, pulling her to the chair and climbing in her lap. He threw his arms around her neck.

"Oh, _Caspian_ ," the queen whispered, and her arms closed around her son and she rocked him, her head resting on his, and both pairs of blue eyes closed as he quieted.

The nurse looked away, bending down to pick up the knight, the metal circlet, the stacks of blocks, quietly putting them away.

For the first time, she wondered what would happen if the queen did not like her, or was displeased with the nursery.

Or if the queen decided to raise her own son.

It was one visit, the nurse told herself. One visit did not mean the queen wished to—or indeed was able—to care for her five-year-old son. One visit did not mean the nurse would lose her prince. But—her hand tightened around the book of animals the prince had received—one visit opened up the possibility that she could.

"You are his nurse?" The quiet question came from behind her, and she turned. The queen's eyes were open again, gazing at her. Caspian was leaning against the queen, content, and both her arms encircled him.

"I am, your majesty." The queen looked down at him, and raised one hand to run it through his curls.

"He seems happy," she said, a slight choke in her voice. "I thank you for that." She looked around the nursery, eyes wandering over toys and shelves—noting the differences? Then her eyes came back to the nurse, the shadow of grief giving way to quiet reflection. "And this is well kept; I thank you for your care of him." Her eyes fell to the book in the nurse's hand, and she hesitated. "Should I read to him, do you think? Does he like that book?" The nurse looked down at the book; she'd never read it to him, preferring to tell him stories about the animals in it instead. She handed it to the queen with another curtsy, and the queen thanked her with a polite, hesitating smile. Opening it, she showed Caspian the first page, a magnificent hand-drawn picture of a deer on the yellow page. "Once upon a time, food in the kingdom of Narnia was quite scarce, for the deer and geese had fled away…"

Caspian fell asleep leaning against his mother as she read him a tale of hunting. When she closed the book and the nurse took it from her slender fingers, she looked down at her son and smiled—a real, heart-smile as she shifted him in her arms so she could carry him. Her grace as she stood up was queenly, and the expression on her face was gentle and loving as she brought him to his bed, drew the scarlet covers down, and then tucked them around her son.

The nurse—who had been asking Aslan for the jealousy to be kept in check as the queen did what had been the nurse's to do every night—curtsied, sure the queen would leave once _her son, hers, it's why he was a prince_ , _why can't he be mine,_ was asleep. But she didn't. She crossed the room with the same grace that she had risen with and stood by the nurse, turning to watch the bed.

"I did not know if I should come," she murmured, her voice soft enough that Caspian didn't stir. "I have not—been myself, since-" her voice caught, and she was silent for a moment. "It is not for children to see that their mothers are broken," she said at last, her voice steady and thoughtful again. "I have been waiting, to be sure I was strong enough to love again and would not hurt my son more." She turned to look at the nurse, Caspian-blue eyes framed by graceful dark hair and a white, grieving face. "You love him too, don't you?"

The nurse nodded, eyes down, tremors in her hands that were hidden behind her plain brown skirt. Would the queen be jealous too?—or was this a kind dismissal, the queen explaining her reasons? She grabbed the material of her skirt and clenched it, praying silently to Aslan for strength. She did not want to leave her prince, her Caspian.

A gentle hand on her arm brought her eyes back to the queen, who had only kindness on her face. "I will not take him from you," the queen whispered. "That would be a poor return for loving him when I was too broken. Indeed, I am broken yet, and need your help, if a queen may ask such. Caspian is a joy, but I am not strong enough to bear much joy yet. I will visit, every day, but I ask you to set aside this, the time when he is tired, every night for me."

The nurse's tremors stilled under the gentle hand, but her fists were still clenched in the hidden folds of the skirt, eyes down again. The queen—was willing to share. Even if the nurse wasn't. But she was taking their story time.

"Perhaps," the nurse paused, cleared her throat, and began again. "Perhaps, your majesty, it would be better to come before his nap time? He is usually just as quiet, but then your majesty may eat lunch with him as well." Her eyes rose to the queen's hesitating face. "It would be good for both of you, your majesty, and would not take much effort. Our fare is as a simple as a prince's could be."

The queen—and yes, she was a queen, the nurse realised, with enough dignity that taking advice did not lessen it—thought a moment and nodded. "I will take your advice," she said quietly. "And see you tomorrow—at the sun's high mark?"

The nurse nodded, and curtsied for the last time as the queen went out, pausing at the door to give one more glance to her sleeping son, curled into a ball under his red covers with a black cat watching them from below his feet.

It was the cat (Caspian's favorite topic of conversation) that the prince and queen—mother and son, the nurse thought, a little more accustomed to it now—discussed over their luncheon the next day. Caspian told her about all his tricks, such as jumping on the prince's shoulder or batting a paw through his curls when the wind blew them, and even got the queen to laugh.

"I want him to talk," Caspian said wistfully, his eyes on the cat on his shoulder. When he looked at his mother, with a "Do you like animals to talk, Momma?" he discovered his mother's face was white with fear.

"No," she said quietly, her voice firm. "I do _not_ wish animals could talk." She rose, but seeing the disappointment on her son's face, ruffled his curls with a gentle hand. "I am tired, my son," she said. "I will see you tomorrow." She stooped down to answer the two arms he had held out for a hug, and left.

That night, though the nurse sat in her story chair, Caspian did not immediately ask for a story. Instead he sat on his four-legged-stool (sturdy enough for a child's bounces) and rested his arm on the nurse's lap.

"Nurse?"

"Why was Momma afraid? Of talking animals?" He looked up with serious puzzlement in his young face, and the nurse's heart clenched. She hadn't told him of the way other humans viewed old Narnia; Aslan willing, she wouldn't have to for years. But what other truth could she tell?

Oh, there was one story…

"Do you remember the Calormenes, my prince?"

"The ones Queen Susan escaped from!"

"That is right, my prince. Once, a very, very, _very_ long time ago, they didn't know about Narnia…"

OOOOO

No one knows how the Calormenes first came to our world. Their legends tell that a great big bird, whom they call Tash, flew from another world with a family clenched in its beak. But instead of eating them, it set them on the top of a hill set by the sea, and in exchange for their lives they fell down and worshipped it. What, my prince? No, you should never worship Tash, only Aslan, But they did not know of Aslan yet, and they were afraid (though they would never tell you so, my prince, because people do not like to admit being afraid. Hmm? Well, they think being afraid makes them look silly, and indeed it can, but that doesn't mean they don't look silly for not speaking the truth, either). And the father of the family built a home at the very top of the hill, and named himself The Tisroc, after Tash. Later, they changed the story, to say that the Tisroc was a child of Tash. What, my prince? No, birds cannot have humans as children. It's a rather silly story, isn't it? But also a funny one, because you'd think people who thought they came from a bird would love talking animals, wouldn't you?

But the soldier from Calormen who first came here didn't know about Narnia, he was only looking for special things to take back to Calormen—what special things? Oh, Narnian nuts, and flowers, and maybe strange animals, my prince. But he didn't realise how strange the animals were!

Their ship came across the sea, my prince-shhh, it's all right, there is nothing to fear—and twenty soldiers came off it, to look through Narnia and find out what kind of land it was. And one of them, named Ishraeth, was an old man with a grey beard, who only came because he wanted to escape all of the family members who were telling him he needed to get married. He didn't want to, my prince, because he loved the sea and ships so much, and did not want to spend time at home. So he came on a ship to Narnia. Now, the other soldiers were young, and they loved to talk, just like your knights do! Do you remember what they talk about? Exactly, my prince—everything they've done. And Ishraeth grew very tired of hearing them talk, and he left for a walk.

And he walked about in the Narnian land, and to his surprise the trees seemed to part in the wind to let him through, and he could walk easily through a thick forest, and he went very far, my prince, without realising it. Don't do that yourself, or I will come after you! You musn't get lost. But Ishraeth knew how to read the stars, enough not to get lost, and so he wasn't worried. And he walked and walked, very far, looking for nuts or flowers, but there weren't any new ones, so at last he leaned against a tree to rest.

And he heard rustling above him, wisss, wisssh, and he looked up, and what do you think he saw? No, not a bird! Guess again. No, not a cat either. Frank doesn't like to make noise when he climbs, and neither do most cats. Yes, you are right! A squirrel. A squirrel was perched on the branch above Ishraeth, frozen with his head sideways, like this, as he listened to something. And what a big squirrel! Ishraeth grinned as he quietly reached inside his shirt pocket for his sling. He was going to take this big squirrel back and show those other soldiers what a real soldier did!

But he rustled his shirt as he reached into it, and the squirrel heard him. And the squirrel's head turned, right towards him, and then—and oh, how Ishraeth jumped!—the squirrel said "Good morning, neighbor! I haven't seen you around before. A lovely morning!"

Out loud, just like that, like you or me! And Ishraeth, who did not think animals could talk, turned very white, because he was afraid.

Why, my prince? Because it was something new, and many, many times, people are scared of what is new because they do not understand it. And Ishraeth, with one hand still inside his shirt, started running as fast as he could! But with his hand inside his shirt he didn't get very far, because it is hard to run that way; he tripped over the tree roots he'd just been resting on. When he scrambled his hand out of his shirt, like this, trying to get himself untangled, he found the squirrel was an elbow's length away from his face, and he froze.

"Are you all right, neighbor?" the squirrel asked. And Ishraeth, with the squirrel so close to him, could see how the squirrel's mouth moved as he spoke, and knew for certain it was the squirrel that spoke.

"Great Tash," Ishraeth breathed out. The squirrel put its head to the side, bright black eyes considering.

"Who is Tash?"

"Tash," Ishraeth said. He wasn't answer the squirrel, you understand; he was praying. And he expected a bird to answer him because he needed help understanding why a squirrel was talking!

"Well yes, I heard 'Tash" before, but I don't know him. Is that your name? Good morning neighbor!" the squirrel interrupted himself to call to a robin that had been flying overhead—and the robin landed on a nearby branch and answered,

"Good morning, neighbor! Who is this?"

"I'm not sure, all he says is 'Tash,'" the squirrel answered. "What news?"

"A shipload of news, neighbor! There's a ship docked on the shore, and it's full of men!"

As the bird and squirrel chattered away, Ishraeth pulled himself to a sitting position—farther away from the squirrel. He was still a little scared, my prince.

"Do _ALL_ animals in this place talk?" he cried at last, interrupting the two friendly animals.

The robin and squirrel looked at each other, each putting their heads to the side.

"Well, the family of rabbits by the beavers' dam don't," the robin said, considering.

"And the deer by the large lake, they're not Talking Animals," the squirrel added pleasantly.

"And the-"

"All right!" Ishraeth interrupted. He looked back from one to the other. " _Why_ do you talk?"

"Oh, because of Aslan!" the squirrel and bird chorused together.

"Who is Aslan?" Ishraeth asked.

OOOO

"And so the bird and squirrel came closer, my prince, and told the Calormen all about how Aslan first made Narnia, and made the animals talk. And so you see, my prince, sometimes people fear Talking Animals because they are new, and we do not always like what is new. Sometimes there are other reasons, though, but we've not enough time for those stories. You and that cat go off to bed!"

Caspian, yawning, obediently pushed Frank off his lap and got up, but paused before heading to bed. "Nurse?"

"Yes, my prince?"

"It's silly not to say when you're scared, right?"

"Yes."

The prince came closer, taking the nurse's hand, a little fear on his own face.

"Why are you scared?" he asked quietly.

The nurse paused, Caspian's hand still in hers, and searched his face. She had not known her own fear and uneasiness were so apparent. But then again, Caspian knew her well, and five-year-olds were cleverer than most adults realised.

"I am also afraid of new things," she said quietly. "And your mother is new to me." As Caspian's face scrunched up, trying to understand, she put her wrinkled hands on both sides of his young face. "But you love your mother, Caspian, and I promise, I will try to love her as well. Because you just reminded me that fear is silly; we are in Aslan's good paws, and whatever happens, He wills. So I promise, my prince," and her old voice was very gentle, "I will try to love your mother too."

She put Caspian to bed, and he was soon asleep. She spent the night there, watching him, and praying, telling Aslan she was afraid of the new queen, and all that she might lose, and asking Him to help her love a queen who might take Caspian's heart away.


	7. Chapter 6 - The Queen Leaves

Chapter Six: The Queen Leaves

Disclaimer: Considering how much this story has taken on a life of its own, I cannot claim a single thing as mine. Also, anything underlined is a direct quote from Lewis's work.

Response to Anonymousme: I'm so glad you liked the last chapter; thank you for reviewing. I spent the holidays focusing on the family, and was aware that I would not be updating as much; this week my schedule goes back to normal, so I should be updating once or twice a week, depending on life happening or leaving me in peace. Since life is still happening, I'll look at the Cinderella stories later. :)

OOOOO

The nurse looked at the queen and frowned in concern. The shadows from the nearby tree flickered across her face as she stood beneath it, smiling her true smile as Caspian ran around her in circles, making the wooden knight in his hands gallop through the air. But the nurse noted the corners of the queen's mouth were turned slightly down, and she was leaning further back as time went on, seeking the strength of the tree to support her.

It happened every afternoon. The queen loved playing with her child, loved her child, but the first few times they came out, it was the queen who needed help to make it back to the castle, almost being carried like a child herself, the nurse catching her as she stumbled over sticks. The nurse had felt the queen's body shaking with fatigue and looked doubtfully at the queen's pale face—would she be blamed? But on arriving at the castle where her maids took over, the queen only offered thanks for the nurse's help.

The next day it happened again, only this time the nurse was watching for it, watching for the shaking hands the queen tried to hide in her long skirts, and offered her arm before the queen could ask. The gratitude in the exhausted face made her heart turn over.

The third day the nurse had the stables saddle a donkey—the best she was given, if it wasn't for the prince himself. Something in the queen's tired face—the quiet desperation—made the nurse want to hide the queen's weakness. She couldn't ask for a horse for the queen and admit the queen couldn't walk home after an afternoon. But she wondered if the queen would ride a donkey—if she wouldn't, Caspian would, and enjoy it too—but the queen had mounted with that same look of heart-wrenching gratitude, offered again as they had stopped just before sight of the castle windows. The queen had looked down as the nurse helped her off, and squeezed her arm.

"You are very kind," she had said quietly and gratefully. "Grief has not been so kind, and I have had to fight to live again. But you, with Caspian—you make it much easier." She smiled at the son who was currently ducking beneath the well-bred donkey's legs. "He has so much laughter, so much joy, and you are so kind…" she looked back up at the palace, and the shadows came over her face again. "It is easier to breathe when I am with you two."

Today, looking at the queen carefully for hints that they should go, or wondering if she wanted the watered wine the nurse had packed for her, the nurse realised she no longer felt the queen to be a threat. No, she wasn't a threat; she was...a charge. The queen's helplessness and gentle gratitude had made the queen her own in a very similar way to Caspian himself.

Instead of the nurse's charge being taking away, she'd been given two.

She wondered if she had the courage to tell the queen the same stories. It would allow her to rest, with Caspian by her side; to breathe and listen to something good.

But she remembered the queen's fear when Caspian spoke of talking animals, and the nurse lost her courage. She went to the donkey (Aron, a regular addition to their outings now) to get the watered wine.

"Nurse?" The nurse turned; the queen had knelt on the ground by her son, two pairs of blue eyes turned towards her. The queen had adopted her son's name for the nurse, and called her that frequently.

"Yes, your majesty?"

"I would ask for your help, if you would." She looked back to her son and smiled. She lifted her hand to trace his face, and her fingers were trembling slightly. "I must go on a trip at the dawning of the next moon, a trip far from my little son, and he does not like that idea." She looked back to the nurse. "My son says you tell marvelous stories. While I am away, will you tell him stories of where I am, and what I am doing? I will tell you all our plans before I go, if you could spare me the time after Caspian is in bed." She smiled. "Then he can go on all my adventures with me," she added softly.

"I will, your majesty," the nurse promised. "But if you'll forgive me for saying so, if you'll be up later tonight, we should probably go back now." She walked over, tugging on the donkey's reins to bring him with her, and extended her hand to help the queen up. Caspian, on the other side, scrambled to his feet to help his mother up as well; he'd learned to imitate his nurse's care. The queen took both their hands and bent like a willow as she rose to her feet, holding onto both their strength.

"I am so glad," she said softly, "that your care and my weakness have taught my son to be kind. It is a good trait for a king. And it gives me hope, to see something good come out of something so frail." She left her hand in Caspian's. "Would you ride with me, my son?"

Throughout the ride back, the nurse noticed the mother clinging to her son, gently, so not to hurt him, but her hands kept him near. It made her a little uneasy.

Nor was she the only one. "Nurse?"

"Yes, my prince?" Aslan be thanked, he was still hers; hers, and his mother's.

"Mother is going away again."

"Yes, my dear, she is."

"She'll come back?"

"Aslan willing, yes, my prince."

"And it won't be long and long? Twenty days, twenty-one, twenty-two?"

"No, my prince. Merely eight. Hold out your hands. See, all these fingers, and these three, and your mother will come home again."

He looked at her, then at his fingers, then at her again. "Promise?" he asked seriously. It was the voice of someone who had lost their mother once, and was afraid of losing her again. She stopped what she was about to say, and, taking the hand she had used to help him count, led him to the story chair and settled him on the stool near it before sitting herself.

"Sometimes, my prince, kings and queens have to go away. Let me tell you a story…"

OOOOO

Long ago, my prince, when the good King Peter reigned as High King, when Aslan Himself would visit Narnia at times, there would be problems. Some were small, like a mole and a dwarf arguing over who got to dig their homes in a newly found hill—who won? Well, they would both come to the High King, and he, with the wisdom Aslan gave him, would how each found the hill, and when, and if it was big enough to be shared; if it was, then he would appoint someone, or sometimes go himself, to mark where the hill would be divided, and if it wasn't, then he found out who had the best claim, and helped the other find a new home.

But sometimes, my prince, there came problems that even the High King had difficulty solving. And what do you think he did then? He called on his brother, King Edmund the Just.

When you get older, my prince, you will meet people who have eyes that look at you deeply—like this, only better—and you will think they can see your heart and your brain—everything you think and feel, my prince. No, most people don't find that _brilliant_ , my prince, they find it uncomfortable. Many adults have much they hide, so it is a scary thing when someone sees it all. What? Oh, we hide what we want, because we want the wrong things, like when you want a toy of Carllel's that isn't yours, or we hide what we've done, when we do the wrong things, like when you should be in bed and hide behind the door when I come in and hope I won't notice. But adults also hide what we're afraid of, or we hide what we're not able to do, because we haven't the honesty of children. But when these people come, we feel like they see it all.

King Edmund had eyes like that, my prince. It was said that his were the eyes of someone who had been forgiven so much, no sin and no grace could be hidden from him. And when the High King Peter needed wisdom, as kings often do, as you yourself will one day when you must make decisions, he would call for his sisters and brother, and together they would ask what Aslan would have them do.

And one day, a problem like that happened. There was a dwarf village, far far away, surrounded by high mountains. Now, most dwarves like living in the mountains, because they like caves, and so did these dwarves, but the caves they had tunnelled were mainly their forges, their treasure-hoards, and their tool-shelters. In the middle of the valley were their houses, and there they grew their food and lived in their houses, and their clan was happy. But one month it rained and rained, my prince, and the lake at one end of the valley, just where the mountains met, grew larger and larger, the waves getting bigger and bigger, and at first the dwarf children—such little children, so short!—would splash in the waves and laugh, or climb the nearby trees and jump in the water, and their mothers and fathers would grumble but smile, but as it got bigger and bigger, it got closer—and closer—and _closer_ to the houses, and the dwarves looked at each other and realised they must somehow stop the water from getting any nearer. So they went to their tool-shelters and grabbed their axes. Why would they do that, my prince? How would that stop the water?

That's right—they meant to build a dam, a wooden wall, and fit the pieces together so the water would come no further. Wasn't that a good plan?

Only there was a problem with that plan. For the dwarves weren't the only ones living in the valley; the dryads lived there too. The best, healthiest, and biggest trees were the best and biggest because the dryads lived in them and cared for them. And as the dwarves took their axes to the trees, they cut down the dryads' homes, and though they warned the dryads to move, so the dryads could take different trees and not die as their tree fell, for that is what happens to dryad if his home is destroyed before he moves, the dryads protested that the water was not harming _their_ trees, and the dwarves had no right to take their homes. And as they stood and argued, the tree branches bending and creaking as their spirits gestured, the shorter dwarves shouting up and brandishing their axes, the water still came down. And finally the dwarves begged the services of a nearby horse, and together a dwarf and dryad set out for the Kings and Queens, to ask for their help.

What would your decision be, my prince?

That's all right. I can wait for you to think.

Yes?

It's all right not to know, my prince. That is what these stories do, they help you to learn, so you may know in the future.

Well, the dwarf and the dryad came as fast as they could to the palace, the dryad running, unbothered by the mud, the horse flecked with water and dirt, and when they arrived the castle gates swung open, for it was the High King's command that any Narnian could find shelter there. And the King himself, outside practicing his sword, heard the horse's hoofbeats and lowered his sword and came to the adjoining courtyard, and bid them welcome. And the dwarf and dryad, talking over each other, demanding the King hear them and save their homes, were so loud that none could tell what they came for! Till the High King held up his hand, just like this, and they stopped. For he was Aslan's own, and had the mark of a king on his face, and Narnians listened. He bid them come in to the hallway, and commanded a servant to call his brother and sisters. Coming in, he bid the dryad, good cousin, to speak first—cousin? Oh, 'twas how the kings and queens addressed their subjects then. But no, they weren't really cousins. And the dryad told his case, and then the dwarf, and the horse was called as a witness, and then the High King turned to his siblings.

"I should go, brother mine." King Edmund spoke first, his voice deep and grave, deeper than mine can go.

"They need our help," his sister Lucy agreed. "Perhaps two of us might go, to offer more assistance."

"Nay, 'tis a matter of judgement of right and wrong, and calls for a clever solution, and all Narnia knows such gifts are what Aslan blessed me most with," her brother responded, with a gentle smile on his face, for he loved his sister, my prince, and I think he would have loved her company, but he did not want her riding in the rain and cold. He looked back to his brother, who was considering their council. "I will take Mr. Beaver with me, if he will, for I have an idea."

"Let it be so," the High King said. "Send Wingspan the Eagle to ask if our friend Mr. Beaver is at leisure to offer his help, and go to our cousins' assistance." He reached over to clasp his brother on the shoulder, a firm squeeze, like this, my prince—and why do you think he would do that? Because he was worried, my prince, for the road was dark and cold and wet, and his brother sometimes got into trouble. "Take two of our cousins the wolves with you, to guard and guide your path. And another horse, for our good dwarf friend, to bring him home." He made sure his brother was listening, my prince, and told him "Come back to us safe, brother mine."

"And a cloak, nay, two," added Queen Susan. "One for our brother and one for our cousin the dwarf, as well as hot drinks before they ride." And it was done.

I won't tell you of the journey there, wet and cold as it was, nor of the dangers the wolves kept the king and his cousins from, but when the arrived, my prince, the dwarves surrounded them, begging for the king's help, for the water had already entered two homes. And the king, looking around grimly, also raised his hand, just like his brother did—he probably learned it from King Peter—and again the Narnians quieted.

"Well, Mr. Beaver?" asked the king. "Would you care to go on a ride with me?" And the beaver, the very same one who had found him on his second trip to Narnia, was lifted by the dwarves onto the king's horse-not a talking horse, my prince, for they weren't ridden unless they had to be-and the king rode right into the water, brrrrr! And it got higher and higher, to the horse's knees, to its flanks, till the king's legs were wet through, and he lifted the beaver to his broad shoulder, even though the beaver could swim! And they talked, the king and the beaver, and looked at all the ways the two mountains around the lake met together, and then the king went back to the dwarves and bid them take their pickaxes and climb. And though some of them grumbled—for dwarves can be grumpy folk—when the king himself shouldered an axe and started climbing, a rope around his waist for the dwarves to use to climb, most were quiet and followed him.

And he climbed, and he climbed, and his hands slipped on the rocks when it was steep, and they cut his fingers and he bled, and he grew tired, but he kept climbing till he reached the top of the mountain. And he walked, a little way down it, till he got to a point above the lake, and he took his axe to the stones, and the dwarves followed him, and together they hit the stones, whack, whack, whack! With great big blows, for dwarves are strong, and the mountains shook, and the stones started cracking, and as they cracked they fell, crash, crash, _crash!_ And they fell down the mountain and landed in the water, splash, splash, splash! And the nearby dryads came and wrapped the larger stones in their roots, and squeezed, and squeezed, and those stones also cracked and splintered and rolled down the mountains. And more and more rocks fell, and then the king led them down the mountain and up the other one, and they did the same there, whack, whack, _whack_! And the stones fell more, and built a wall, and it grew taller and taller, till it was above the water.

And down in the valley Mr. Beaver was guiding the women to create holes, deep holes, deeper and deeper, till they were above the dwarves' heads. And he had the children make long, long pits, and the water would run in the pits, and they dug them to the holes, and the water started draining into them, and into empty caves in the mountains, and the water level fell and fell, and the two homes started to dry inside, and the village of the dwarves was saved, and so were the dryads' houses. And a tired, weary King Edmund led the dwarves back, and he smiled as a dwarf matron wrapped his bleeding hands and said, "My brother King Peter is going to shake his royal head at this, when I get home again." And courteously refusing the dwarves offer to stay, he raised Mr. Beaver onto one horse, mounted the other, and rode home again to his anxiously waiting family.

OOOOO

Caspian was asleep against her when she looked down, his thumb in his mouth and eyelids closed. She sighed, picked him up (he was getting too heavy for this, but his worries for his mother left him a little child again), and put him to bed.

It was not long before the door swung open to reveal the queen, and a younger lady of the court the nurse did not know by name, with long, curled brown hair, a dark face that could have distantly come from Calormen, and eyes that were red with weeping.

"This is the lady Belisar," the queen said, her hand on the lady's arm. The nurse's hands twitched; the queen's face was pale, still, with a grief even deeper than normal, but with a hidden strength as well. "She loves the throne of Narnia with all her heart, and has sworn to guard it from harm. She will stay with Caspian while we speak." Both ladies waited till the nurse nodded. The queen loved Caspian as much as she did, and would not see him come to harm; if she trusted the Lady Belisar, then the nurse would to, for tonight. As the nurse nodded Lady Belisar swept into the room, and came to look at Caspian. She took a breath, and looked to the nurse, then back at the queen.

"I will guard him as the child I can now never have; he will be to me as mine. This I swear, on my life and the blood of my house." She swept a deep curtsy, and the queen let out a breath.

"Thank you, Anacela," she said quietly. "Nurse, if you would come, I have need of your strength tonight." The Lady Belisar held out a cloak, and helped the nurse put it over her shoulders. The queen pulled up the hood of her own cloak, and leaning on the nurse's arm, led the way through many passages and up several staircases, and at last, through a little door in a turret, the two came out upon a tower. The queen was breathing heavily, and leaned against the wall, despite the nurse's strong arm around her waist. The nurse waited in silence till the queen recovered.

"I thank you for your patience," the queen said. She turned to look at the nurse's face, eyes serious and dark under the dark sky. "You have given me my greatest gift—a heart that cares for and loves my son well—but your kindness to me has led me to ask you for yet more. If you do not wish this, I will tell you no more. I will take you back to the nursery, back to my son, and you will remain his nurse and he your charge, and I will find someone else to lay this burden on for his protection. But I ask you, as someone who loves him, are you willing to risk your life for him? Are you willing to love him more than your life?"

"I already do, my queen," the nurse said, her voice low. She did—she had. For every one of Old Narnia's stories she told, she was taking a risk. But she took them for Aslan, and later, for Caspian. And she had no regrets.

What she felt must have been evident, for the queen let out a sigh of relief. "I brought you here because no one can overhear us," she said, turning to look out over the battlements. "But also because it is now a place to look out and remember two brave men who have died." She pointed out over the forest to their right. "There, three days ago, two of the lords of court, two of my husband's most loyal friends, were shot with arrows during a hunting party. Lord Belisar, the Lady Belisar's older husband who loved her dearly, and young lord Uvilas his friend, were brought back from the forest in _biers_. Ana now has to live _my_ life, because her husband was loyal. And, and I saw the Lord Protector's face as he bent over the biers." She was silent for a moment, struggling, her hands clenching in her cloak. "I had known he was not content with being regent, but I had not known-" she broke off, closed her eyes, and waited another moment. She turned to the nurse, sadness—a different sadness than grief—on her face. "It is my fault," she said softly. "I did not want to see the problems, for I did not think I had the strength to deal with them. It was easier to make myself believe that Miraz was as loyal as Belisar, as wise as Bern, as true as the house of Passarid. But the lies I believed are crumbling about me now, and," she reached forward and caught the nurse's arm, "I would not have Caspian caught in the ruins." Her voice was still clear, but as she turned to the nurse, the nurse could see her crying. "Caspian gave me strength to fight again; his joy, his loyalty, him being so like his father-"

"Caspian is always worth fighting for," the nurse agreed, somewhat grimly, when the queen did not continue. "But what can I do?"

"Do not let him grow up like his uncle," the queen said, voice low. Her hand tightened. "Do not let him believe that ruling is a matter of power over others, but of service to others. And, if the time comes when he is a threat to Miraz, warn him that Miraz will have him killed, perhaps with arrows, and help him either fight or flee." She took the nurse's other arm, so they were face to face. "Promise me. Promise me you will help my son."

"I promise, your majesty." She did, without hesitation, Caspian _was_ her charge, given to her by Aslan Himself, but—if she was ever found out-"But your majesty, how long will he need a nurse?"

At that, the queen smiled. Clear tears on her cheeks, face still white with weakness and grief, but still-smiling. "There is no fear of that," she said softly. "Caspian loves you, and will keep you as long as he can. But I am a queen," she said, releasing one arm to hold up her hand, checking the nurse's protests, "and I must think ahead. I have met, here on this very tower, three others who have promised as you have. A man-in-waiting who begins his service now, for when Caspian gains his own chambers, a tutor currently in the castle's library, for when my son must begin learning, and a keeper of the horses who is gaining trust, for when the prince begins to ride and must be accompanied. People too small for Miraz to notice, but with hearts as true as your own." She released the nurse's other arm, turning back to the forest. "I have done all I can, to make sure he does not come home one day on his own bier," she said softly. "And to make him a good king."

"What will your majesty do?" the nurse asked, after a moment to think. Her heart ached for the Lady Belisar, the two dead lords, and the future Narnia's king must face, but those she could do nothing for, not now. But the queen in front of her, she at least the nurse could render some support.

"I go to the Lords of Beaversdam," the queen said quietly. "They are eccentric but loyal, and my husband told me once they had a wisdom beyond that of men, the wisdom of lions. I have need of wisdom such as that."

The nurse looked at the queen sharply. Her face revealed nothing. Did she know what she'd said? The nurse hesitated, on the brink of asking—but if the queen feared Old Narnia, would she be afraid to leave Caspian to the nurse's care? Of all the things that could happen, the nurse feared her removal the most. She could not risk it to find out if the queen would favor Old Narnia, would favor the truth that had been hidden. So she held her silence, and the queen maintained hers, till at last she held out her arm to be helped down the stairs.

The next morning the queen bid farewell to her son in front of the court, holding him close, then setting him down and kissing his head. She nodded to the nurse, once again the distant, regal gesture she used in public places, and turned and mounted her pretty white horse. The nurse curtsied back, and left her hand on Caspian's shoulder, a subtle promise the queen would understand. The two of them, nurse and prince, went back to the nursery and watched her as long as she was in sight from the nursery window. Internally, the nurse promised herself she'd learn the stories of the Lords of Beaversdam to tell the prince, that he might know more of where his mother was going, and to whom.


	8. Chapter 7 - Facing Dragons

Chapter Seven: Facing Dragons

Disclaimer: Legends rarely belong to just one author, but Lewis's genius created one by himself. Narnia is therefore his, and was his to pass on to whomever owns it now; it's not mine. I'm just retelling his tales with my own embellishments.

A/N: Also, I updated the last two paragraphs of the last chapter slightly, to make them flow better; I shouldn't write when I'm that tired! My apologies for them.

OOOOO

From _The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_ , where Caspian asks how the Long Islands became a part of Narnia and Edmund says they don't know. Lewis adds his own note:  
"By the way, I have never yet heard how these remote islands became attached to the crown of Narnia; if I ever do, and the story is at all interesting, I may put it in some other book." So clearly Caspian doesn't know this tale.

From _The Last Battle_ , where Jewel the Unicorn tells tales of Narnia to Jill that she had never heard:  
"King Gale, who was ninth in descendant from Frank the first of all kings, [] sailed far away into the Eastern seas and delivered the Lone Islanders from a dragon and how, in return, they had given him the Lone Islands to be a part of the royal lands of Narnia for ever."

OOOOO

The Lords of Beaversdam, the nurse realised, had a well-deserved reputation for oddness. They were two brothers, fast friends and sword companions, according to the stories, and above all else, travelers. She settled in a chair in the kitchen, one evening, to listen to the two cook's helpers who were clearing away the leftovers from the day's cooking.

"It's been said they went farther into the Western part of the world than any others ever did, even past the Western Wild," said one in a voice of wonder. "Aye, past the high cliffs that should have been impossible, where the cold is a person, and reaches out to take fingers and toes." The other helper, Leisa, snorted.

"Stuff and nonsense. High the mountains may be, an that means cold, but it don't mean magic monsters. Tone down your stories, Willa, and stick to facts."

"Well, so people say! Anyways, west they went, an came across the weirdest things, cliffs made entirely of ice with color in it, greens an blues, an a tree that had sweet, chewy brown fruit with papery leaves, an there, at the end, midst the mountains of ice, there were a lake—a warm, clear-blue lake in a green valley, with a smell to make one young again, so they say. And the two followed the smell, they did—for the younger one were very curious, he was, an there ain't no stoppin him, an the older one followed where he went, to keep him out of trouble, but it's plain as the nose on a dog's face that he likes adventure just as much. An if a fight, or trouble comes, he's the first to meet it, he is, an the younger's the first to try to talk to it, from sheer curiosity. An they followed it to the lake, an swam it, an at the end there were a steep green hill, an there, at the top, they found the smell, behind golden gates in a green wall." She paused.

"And what was it?" asked the nurse, wondering if this were a story Caspian would enjoy.

"They said 'A garden,' an wouldn't say more. It were curious, that telling, like the garden meant more than the two could put in their words, lords though they are."

"The older said more," Lesia rebuked, tone stern. "If you listened more instead of talking, Willa, you might have heard him."

"What'd he say?"

"That a fruit in the garden gave out that smell, but that the fruit wasn't for them." Leisa paused. "And then he went on and talked about talking animals, golden lions, I think, and got banished from the castle for his trouble. And where he went, so went the younger; inseparable, the two were. Still are, I suppose. They're at Beaversdam now, an leave it every spring to go who knows where. For all the trouble they caused with their exploring as kids, they brought a laughter an a storytelling to the castle, an I miss it." Her accent thickened by the end, her eyes looking only at the dishes she was clearing, fingers white as they held them. The nurse looked down, thanked her gravely, and got up and left.

At least she knew why the queen feared mention of talking animals. If the Lord Protector banished two knights for mentioning it, it would not be welcome, and the queen knew it. She wished, a bit, she had told the queen Narnian stories—Old Narnian stories—before she left. If the queen recognized them—if the queen welcomed them—she wished she _knew_.

Perhaps, when the queen returned...maybe Aslan would give her the courage to bring it up. And be an even better friend to the charge Aslan had given her.

And she wanted to meet those two lords. Them, a future king who loved Old Narnia, a kind queen who was gathering forces—perhaps, oh Aslan please, _perhaps_ , it would be time for Narnia to be freed again.

She rounded the corner to the corridor outside Caspian's nursery and stopped, fear stopping it.

A knight in chain mail sat on a chair outside the door.

A knight she had never seen before.

A knight who could kill her, easily, his hand rested on the silver hilt of his sheathed sword, she was an old, small woman, she had no strength or speed-

But Caspian was in that nursery, Caspian, her little golden-haired Lion-given child, and if the knight guarded the door so another with unsheathed sword could slip inside-

She clenched her trembling fists and walked forward with a heavy pace, almost stomping, hoping to seem unafraid. The knight stood as she approached, and she walked right up to him and put her head back to glare up at him, barely coming up to his chin.

"You are the prince's nurse?" the knight asked, before she could speak.

"Yes. I am." She crossed her wrinkled old arms, and was nearly hit as the knight bowed.

"I am bidden by the queen to give you this as a present from him, from the woodworkers of Beaversdam." He held out a package wrapped in purple and tied with scarlet twine, bowed again as the stunned nurse took it, and turned and marched away, leaving a trembling old woman behind him.

"Well," she said, looking from the package in her hand to the back of the departing knight. "Well," she said again, sinking against the wall, trying not to breathe heavily. She rested her head against the stone and closed her eyes.

"Thank you, Aslan," she murmured. "And help me, I was never meant to be a warrior. How am I supposed to do this?"

There was no answer, so the practical, scared old woman pushed herself up and went to bed.

The next morning she gave the gift to Caspian, reveling in the way his face lit up at the proof that his mother remembered him. That she loved him. Eagerly he tugged at the scarlet twine, pulling the ties into knots. The nurse knelt by him and gently untangled them, and held the bottom of the package as he unwrapped the smooth purple folds.

It was made of dark wood, smooth, shaped like a lizard with four short legs and giant, unfolded wings that moved up and down, jointed into the body near the serpentine head. Caspian ran his fingers over it, curious.

"It is a dragon, your majesty," the nurse said. She ran her own finger over the smooth wood, underneath the burnt black circle of its left eye, above its jointed, moving jaw. It looked...fearsome. "Knights and kings were sent to slay them sometimes. They can be a cruel, greedy race." She paused. "I heard tell of one, the Dawn Treader, that wasn't, but most are the enemies of knights, your majesty." Caspian's eyes were fixed on his new toy, but they lit up at her words, and he ran to the cupboards that housed his things. Scrambling inside, on his hands and knees, one hand still on the dragon toy, he brought out the wooden knight he'd shown her, that he and his mother had played with, and took both to the floor to play.

She watched them, for a time, the boy king absorbed in the battle between the two, figuring out how the knight and dragon would attack. Resting on her chair, seeing a single man—a wooden man at that—fight a flighted, clawed, and fearful creature, she remembered another story, one she'd heard long, long ago, of another Narnian king who came face to face with strong and vicious evil—and conquered it. Sitting in her chair, she began…

OOOOO

Once upon a time, my prince, Narnia's king was named Gale. The past eight kings had been wondrous ones, the first having brought Narnia through its birth, the second having taught the Narnians to explore and settle it, to unite it by speed of bird and squirrel, the third having found, spoken with, and unmasked the evil of the giants on the frontier and fought them, the fourth having looked to the sea to explore, indeed built his castle on the shore to remain near it...but you are not listening, my prince. Perhaps I should skip to the dragon.

The ninth king was named Gale, and he was a skilled king. Narnia flourished, and even grew, as his young, eager second son went to Archenland and began a settlement there, with his father's help. But as the king watched his son surpass him, and his elderly knights reminisce on how his father defeated the evil union of the werewolves and hags that had united against Narnia, he grew restless. Where was his glory?

His mother, wise in her old age, counseled him to forget his own glory and think of Aslan's. Ah, I thought that name would catch your attention. Yes, she told him to keep his eyes open for sight of the Lion, or sound of His roar, and follow where He led, and that would be glory enough.

And you, young prince, are hardly listening again. Ah well. Mayhap you'll remember a bit of this tale, it would do you good, for I think...I think both of us need lessons on defeating evil, for evil's growing in your own kingdom, my prince.

The king, who was wise enough to listen to his mother (remember that too, young Caspian, for when she returns), agreed, and for three long years kept his eyes and ears open. And heard nothing. But during that time he set about to make Narnia ready, for peace or war, adventure or quiet, with skill at arms and yet negotiation lessons, and-my prince, do not crash your toys together so harshly, the dragon wings will break off, and a flightless dragon is a dead one.

Better. Mind you're careful, now. In that time, as King Gale waited longer and longer, and grew more and more skilled as a king, and yet more and more impatient, he turned to the only thing that could take his mind off waiting and yet be peaceful: ship-building. He loved to plan the ships, drawing them on paper with unskilled hands but clear directions, and loved to help to sand the wood to prepare it, and to sink metal nails deep into the boards to make the graceful form he envisioned. And year by year his ships grew more beautiful and better, faster in the water, and able to go longer distances.

And one unremarkable morning he woke to a roar, a roar he had never heard before, and he scrambled out of his bed and into his shoes, following the roar to the shoreline. There he heard the lookouts crying "Ship on the horizon!" And he looked, and what a bedraggled, leaking, broken ship she was, even worse than the bed-haired, night-clothing-clad king. It sailed onto Narnia's shore and the rocks scraped through it, and it began to sink in the harbor. The Narnian merfolk swam to the ship and buoyed it up on rocks, stacking the smoothest ones around it to keep it from falling farther, and the waterfolk of Narnia laid planks on a sandbar to allow the weary inhabitants to stumble towards the shore, and the gracious king invited the ragged, beggarly folk into his castle for food, sleep, and clothing.

The next morning he met with them, to inquire after their rest and comfort, and they fell to their knees and begged for his help. They were from an island, and there were few of them left. For a dragon, my prince, just like the one in your hand, only as long as three horses standing nose to tail, with wings larger than this room, from cupboard to cupboard, and a shining, poisonous green, had claimed their island. It was eating them, one at a time, every few days, and taking all they had. It refused to let them leave; five ships had set out at once, and only this one escaped, for the dragon was too busy sinking the other four to give chase in time. And at each island they stopped at, they found no one to help, only those who turned pale with terror at the idea of a dragon.

But the king, as he heard of the others' terror, also heard a low growl, and smiled, for here at last was his adventure! "Gather the ship-goers!" he called through the halls. "We go to-" he looked at the men at his feet, raising the one closest to him. "Where did you say the dragon made his home?"

"The Lone Islands, your majesty," stammered the man, looking at the grinning king as if he was a madman.

"The Lone Islands!" the king finished, swirling away to get his sword and armor. At last, Aslan had sent him his adventure!

And they loaded the ship with food and fresh rope, and other things that ships need, and set the sails, and did all kinds of things I don't know the meaning of, and the king stood on shore, waiting for it to be ready for him to board, and beside him came his mother.

"A word of caution, my king," she said softly. He turned, smiling as widely as you are right now at your knight. "You go to seek adventure, and there is nothing wrong in that-but beware, as you go, that you do not go in your own strength, but in Aslan's." And the king promised his mother, kissed her on the cheek—he was tall enough to do that, my prince, but you are not tall enough yet—and went on board.

And he spoke with the islanders, on the trip there, getting an idea of the dragon's strength and size, and the weakness he had where his legs met his armored chest, and planned how he would duck and move to avoid the terrible head with its man-eating teeth—yes, just like that, my prince, only don't make it snap too hard on the knight's head, or it might break—I'm glad you like this tale, for I'm not enjoying this part—and how he would win against this terrible beast. And day after day he practiced his swordfighting with the teachers he'd brought with him, and day by day they sailed closer to the dragon's burnt and captive home.

Then one day it was in sight, just at dawn. And it grew closer and closer, till the separate islands could be made out, and the king raised his sword to cheer, but none could hear him in the terrible noise that rang across the waters, a terrible dragon roar.

The men at the oars dropped the wooden handles and covered their ears, like this, and the islanders turned pale and trembled, huddled against each other, and the knights on board pressed their lips together and clenched their fists on their swords, drawing them out with a metal cling. And it was then that the dragon came.

He didn't wait, my prince, till they were on land; no, he came over the water, great wings spread in flight, higher and higher, just like that! Flying fast as a wind through the flags, flapping with the same sound, and roaring his terrible roar. And so fast did he fly that he was over the ship, snapping up one of the knights and then away, before the king could do more than turn his head. The dragon flew up, up, up, and dropped the knight in his metal armor, down to the water where he could not swim. A few brave sailors—the king rewarded them later—dove overboard to go rescue the knight, but the rest huddled to the deck, for the dragon had turned again.

And it came, swooping down, with its aweful mouth open, and fire came from it and licked the wooden mast of the ship, the tree that held the sail. And the cloth burned in an instant, and the wood itself blacked, and the dragon was away before the king could even shout.

Again and again, the dragon came back, laying fire to the ship, or clawing at the knights. And again and again, the king was helpless to stop him.

And it tore his heart, for he loved his people, and hearing their screams, and the fire's deep roaring, while he stood and could do nothing, hurt him deep, deep inside.

"Aslan," he said, defeat in his voice. "Aslan, help."

And what do you think, my prince? Aslan heard; Aslan, who always hears, who might leave Narnia to a hundred years of winter, but who always comes again—Aslan heard, and He answered. The dragon was turning, coming back again, its black eyes gleaming as it flew for the king himself, and the king's sword flamed, and the king remembered other lessons, long ago as a boy, when his father taught him to kill a wolf from a distance by throwing his sword, before the werewolf's long arms could reach him, and King Gale drew back his arm, like this, and _threw_ as hard as he could, at the weak spot between the leg and the chest, and so strong was he that the sword flew straight up, and the dragon, swooping down with the speed of the wind, drove it deep into its body, and it fell into the ocean with a terrible cry, bleeding beneath the waves. And the panting sailors huddled in smallest places stared wide-eyed, till the king, at Aslan's reminder, called "Water!" And they scurried with buckets, here! And there! Everywhere, putting out the fire, and the king himself went to the railings to lower rope to the men in the water, and worked with the sailors to bind up those torn by the dragon claws.

And they sailed slowly, limping into the Lone Islands as the other ship had limped into Narnia, and met the frightened, weeping people on shore who couldn't believe they were free.

And later, when hurts had been tended and ship had been mended, the Lone Islanders, each and every one, swore to be a part of Narnia forever, and they are a part of Narnia even now—a distant, uncommunicative part, to be sure, but a part nonetheless. And King Gale, looking at the scars his men bore, and the people just beginning to believe in joy and hope again, realised he wasn't so fond of adventures as he thought, and he knelt and gave thanks to Aslan for giving him wisdom through this one, and for helping him win.

OOOOO

The nurse looked at the prince and sighed. He hadn't been listening hardly at all, just to the fight as he put his dragon through the motions of it, and at the end, when he could tell the story was wrapping up. She placed her hand on his head. "Remember this, my prince," she said with the wise voice of an old woman. "We win against dragons only by the strength of Aslan alone, but when we win, other people become a part of Narnia, become more of Aslan's own." He smiled up at her, nodding, and went back to playing with his toys.

"By the strength of Aslan alone," she murmured. Remember her hopes, for Old Narnia restored, remembering the queen's fear, and remembering her promise, she lifted a prayer of her own.

"Aslan, help me."


	9. Chapter 8 - Hope Deferred

Chapter Eight: Hope Deferred

Disclaimer: Because I do not know this story (or anything it contains), killing the queen wasn't done by me, it was commanded by Lewis. I bow the outline of my work to his master hand; and it is his Narnia, not mine.  
Words that are underlined are Lewis's own.

Response to AnonymousMe: I'm glad you liked the last few chapters. Did you pick up on the allusions to _The Magician's Nephew_ in the Lords of Beaversdam's trip? I wasn't sure if they were obvious enough, particularly the toffee tree Digory and Polly grew. I'd never heard the saying the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world, but I love it. I think the story you're referring to is "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader" by elecktrum, where the dragon comes to announce a star's death. It's a beautiful and piercing story. Was that the story you referred to?

OOOOO

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick." Proverbs 13:12a

It became a habit. Every day, when the prince was handed over to his men-in-waiting for his change of clothes before supper (a new development his Lord Protector had insisted on once the queen left), his nurse climbed to the bottom window of the tower the queen had once led her to, and prayed to Aslan for the queen's safe return, and the return of Old Narnia—and Himself. Each time she left with a growing sense of peace.

Pushing on the wooden frame around the glass, the nurse opened the window, and folded her wrinkled hands on the stone sill in the light of the setting sun.

"Aslan," she murmured, "help us, all of us, queen, prince, the remnants of Your own as may be scattered. The heartbroken, too, like the young lady of Belisar; Aslan, as Old Narnia comes back, make a place for ones like them, young or old, who need a Lion, lion-hearted, lion-love, lion-fierce. I'm far from that myself, but You, I think You're bringing back the old days. Let them come soon, Aslan. Conquer the Telmarine dragon. Help us." She leaned a bit farther forward, resting a bit before she made the trek back to the nursery, letting her eyes wander past the courtyards, to the road leaving the palace.

And so it was that she saw the procession coming back, knights and guards and horses and dogs, walking at a slow pace from the forest—and each one of the men clad in black. Her heart clenched. She could have sworn it was the queen's procession; there, with Lord Rhoop and Lord Restimar in the front, it was. They were almost at the gate. It had to be the queen's procession. But why-

Aslan, why, why were they all in black? Please, Aslan, don't let it be the reason I'm thinking, the nurse begged. As swiftly as her old feet could stumble and her shaking legs could move, she ran back through the corridors, down, down to the kitchen, through the hall, and into the door to courtyard, breathing in gasps, grabbing the doorframe for support. Miraz, The Lord Protector, was already there with his train, speaking in an inaudible voice with the two lords at the head of the procession, shaking his head. The two bowed their heads, and the Lord Protector stepped back, turning to face the growing crowd of people in the courtyard, brightly-clothed courtiers on their way to dinner, servants with baskets of washing or trays of food balanced in their arms, hunters who had come to put the dogs in their kennels. Behind the Lord Protector his train of followers spread out on both sides, a line between those returning and the rest of the castle inhabitants, a line of authority and power. Miraz spoke as its leader, raising his voice.

"People of Narnia, grieve! For the queen, frail in her grief, great in her love for her departed lord Caspian the Ninth, has at last gone to rest, and will be placed by his side, mourned by our people, for the death grief wrought on so kind and so timid a spirit." He turned to his knights, giving directions for the body.

The body of the queen.

In the courtyard several of the ladies of the court burst into tears and disappeared through the doorways, the Lady Belisar among them. But the nurse didn't move.

Her hands squeezed the doorframe, fingers white even to her wrinkles. There was no grief in the Lord Protector's face, only a busy look that spoke of things to be done-and a glint in his eyes of satisfaction.

Aslan help them, there was a dragon in Narnia, and it just gained the power of the throne.

And the queen-

Aslan, _why?!_

The queen, with her gentleness, her resolution even as she faced with her own weakness and tiredness, her love for Caspian that was as great as the nurse's own, the charge Aslan Himself had given to her just weeks ago, that she led and supported and learned to love, and now she was ripped away-

"Excuse me, you?" She looked up, trying to get herself together, to put the questions aside till later; a knight with a bored expression stood before her.

"Yes?" she managed to answer.

"The Lord Protector requires you." He turned and left, not checking to see if she followed.

She did; she felt too numb to protest. But as she drew nearer, Miraz turned, and she tried not to blanch. She'd never wanted to face down a dragon, but she was walking into one's throat.

"You are Caspian's nurse, aren't you?" She nodded, trying to curtsy on shaking legs. He seemed satisfied. "Let him know his mother's gone. You comforted him before; do it again. He needn't come to the funeral, not a place for children. There, begone with you."

Oh, Aslan. Caspian—he'd want to see his mother. One more time. She—she could try facing the dragon for him. "Sir-" her voice came out too high, and she cleared her throat and tried again, aware he'd turned back to her with a look of impatience. "I think the prince might want to say goodbye to his mother." She daren't say more than that.

The Lord Protector dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "Very well, very well. But see that he's quiet. A queen's funeral is a place of dignity, not a nursery for crying kids." He turned away again and she curtsied and left, out of that awful courtyard.

But she didn't make it far. She crumpled against a stone wall beneath one of the torches, crying sobs that shook her body. The queen. The queen. She'd never thank the nurse with a grateful smile, or make plans for Caspian's future, or breathe easier in the presence of her son. She was _gone_ , and Caspian was an orphan.

And the nurse had never told her one Narnian story. Never mentioned Aslan's name. She'd never know if the queen was one of Aslan's own.

And Caspian still had to be told.

She drew her aching, old body up by leaning on the wall, and made her way to the nearest washing room, trying to wash the tears from her face. She breathed, in and out, trying for the calm that should come with so many years of life.

And outside Caspian's room, she stopped once again. She wanted to ask for Aslan's help, but didn't have the words. So she stood, hoping He could hear everything that couldn't be said, and then pushed open the door.

Caspian was on the floor, playing with his gifted dragon and his knight with a bright smile. He looked up at her and jumped up, running towards her, proudly holding up one finger. "One!" he said, his smile impossibly bright. "One more sleep, and Momma comes home!"

The nurse choked, sinking to her knees beside her prince. Oh, Aslan, could you not have made this easier? She reached for him, pulling him in to a close hug, and whispered in his ear.

"Caspian, my prince, something—something bad happened today. Your mother will not be home tomorrow." Caspian stirred, trying to hold up his fingers again, but the nurse didn't release him. "She was—she was sick, my prince." She held him tighter yet. "Like your father was. And she didn't get better. Caspian, my Caspian, she isn't coming home." Caspian was completely still. She tried to turn him to look at her, and his gaze seemed to be alert. "Do you understand, my prince?" He didn't respond. "My prince?"

"My Momma isn't coming home," he said quietly. The nurse nodded, crying again, and holding him closer.

But Caspian did not cry.

He did not cry the next day, at his mother's funeral; he laid a white rose on her wooden coffin and touched her hand, and then stood, staring. His nurse eventually tugged him away at his uncle's frown, and he went willingly.

He did not cry in the mornings, when he woke. He did not cry in the afternoons, when his mother used to come. He did not cry at night, when he went to bed.

But he did not ask for stories either. He touched his toys, running his fingers over them, but no longer used them to play, and he no longer ran and jumped and climbed either. And the nurse's heart, already trying not to break with the loss of one charge, found itself aching at the stillness in her other. She found what relief she could, comforting others, especially the Lady Anacela Belisar, who came to the nurse and cried as the nurse held her, both of them longing for their dead queen. In comforting others was a measure of comfort, a small measure, but enough.

Till one night when she couldn't sleep; till the grief was too heavy. Restless, she went first to the window where she'd prayed, but found it only looked out on darkness; even the stars weren't visible. She shuddered, and climbed the tower; and found only memories that haunted her, and a cold wind that made her bones ache with her heart. Aslan, could she find no where to rest? At last, she went back to the nursery, thinking to check on Caspian, hoping the sight of him sleeping would bring her a measure of peace. But outside his door she paused. There was a sound coming from inside.

A sound she knew, from her own grief, from Anacela's.

But this time it was Caspian. She was at his bed, picking him up, stroking his hair, before she knew she was moving, the door to the hall still open, letting in a little light. Caspian clung to her with his little arms, and she moved to the story chair, closest to the door, closest to the light. Caspian said nothing, and she let him cling, asking Aslan silently for help, for Caspian was demanding nothing of her. She could do nothing but sit with him. Gradually, his crying quieted and, knowing it helped sometimes to have something else to think of, even perhaps for children, she told him a story of a time the one they loved the most had been broken by sorrow.

"Once upon a time, my prince, Aslan Himself, and His Father, grieved as their hearts were broken…

OOOOO

It was a long time ago, at the end of the time of the White Witch. I told you that Aslan and the Four won, that the two boys fought in battle and won and were healed—but I never told you what the cost of such a battle was. For, my prince, it shouldn't have been fought. Something happened that should have caused Narnia to perish before it was ever fought. Something as bleak and black as death itself.

When the four came to Narnia, they did not come together. The little girl Lucy was first, and she came and fell in love with Narnia. Her next-oldest sibling Edmund came the second time, separately, and he wasn't enchanted by our Narnia; he was enchanted by the White Witch.

He was alone, and lonely, because he believed his brother and sisters were nothing special, and angry, my prince, I think because his sister had been proven right. He did not like to be wrong, not when he was special. And he met the White Witch. She frightened him at first, and afraid he dared not disobey her. She told him to come close to talk, and he came, and she fed him food, and with that food bound him to her. And he was so comfortable after the food, after eating with evil, and after listening to her promises to make him a prince—yes, my prince, he _was_ already chosen to be Aslan's _king_ , but he was so filled with hope at the future she offered him, for he did not know or trust Aslan's, that he listened to everything she said, and believed her. And so in that small moment of time, my prince, he made a choice. He sided with evil.

I know, my prince. I know. Let me hold you tighter. It is hard thing when our heroes fall.

It is true one of the four, one of Aslan's chosen, one He called from another world into ours to rid ours of evil, sided with evil. It was a betrayal of everything good, though he did not know it at the time. But that one choice, to pick her side and all she offered him, led to other choices, to cruelty to his brother and sisters in the days that followed. And that should have been a warning, that one cannot eat with evil and listen open-eared to them without becoming more evil oneself, but he did not heed that warning. And so, when the third time came and all four entered Narnia and set the beginning of the Golden Age in motion, one of the four had poison in his mind and poison in his heart.

And the four came in, and started exploring. And they found a cave where the White Witch's soldiers had taken away Lucy's only friend, and it should have been another warning, but instead he persuaded himself that the White Witch—the queen, he thought of her—might really be in the right.

And the four followed a robin, one whose name is not remembered, and met two new friends, Mr. and Mrs. Beaver. And the Beavers, despite knowing what happened the last time a Narnian harbored a human, opened their home to the Four, fed them dinner, and told them the tales of Narnia, and its hopes.

And King Edmund—just boy Edmund then—did not stay to listen to the whole tale, for his ears had been stopped by the Witch's lies, and he slipped out and walked the long, cold journey to the Witch's castle. One time, during a night in the Golden Age when a knight was suffering temptation and came to confess it to his kings and queens, King Edmund spoke, with the heaviness of a knight who has fallen, and the joy of own of Aslan's own who have been forgiven. And he told of the walk to the Witch's castle, where every obstacle Aslan put in his way became something that made him angrier, and where he became so consumed by his anger that when he reached the Witch's house, none of the statues in her corridors, not the chill of her home, and not even threats from a wolf who rose and bared his teeth like a dog stopped Edmund from going to her. And once before her, he did what no brother, no knight, no child should ever do. He told the Witch Witch where to find his siblings, betraying them to their enemy. And he told her all the news and hopes he had heard from the Beavers as well, including Aslan's presence. He betrayed Aslan to the Witch.  
The dark does not last, my child. Be brave—oh, little one, you must be brave now. Remember Aslan.

A strange thing happened then, a mercy that always happens when evil is faced with good. It reveals its true self, and the Witch was no different. She treated Edmund as if he was a burden, a brat, like the maids when they're washing linen and dogs come to play. She, who had promised him he was special, treated him like that. And the boy who betrayed Aslan was forced to see what side he had chosen.

It was the side that wanted to kill him. The Witch took him captive, and forced him to work, and push in the mud and sludge as Aslan broke her winter, and then to walk and walk and walk with whips and rope when she could no longer sledge. And then, as night fell and dark ruled, she had him bound to a tree, rope around him firmer than my arms around you, holding him in place, and began sharpening her knife.

But Aslan knew of Edmund's choice, and Aslan knew what evil would do. So Aslan sent his warriors to rescue Edmund, the scared little boy tied in the dark, who was fixed to be killed on a tree. And the warriors, the centaurs, unicorns, deer, and eagles that Aslan had sent, found him and freed him, and brought him to Aslan.

Only think what a meeting that would have been, my prince. Brought into the camp as a traitor, brought to the leader of all that is good and true and living, and to have that leader meet you where you are, in the darkness. And so Aslan did, and they talked till dawn. And no one knows what Aslan said, my prince, to bring the betrayer into the morning that made him a king, but we need not know. Aslan—Aslan meets us in our darkness as well. Every night, if we need Him, He will tell us what we need to hear.

But that is not why Aslan grieved. There are consequences, my prince, for betrayal. Remember that. You will one day be King of Narnia; even now you are its Prince. And one who betrays you will suffer the wrath of Aslan.

I'm sorry, my prince. I did not mean to frighten you. I—let me leave aside my worries. Forgive an old woman her fears. Breathe with me, in, and out. There, even in the dark, I will leave them in Aslan's paws.

The consequences for Edmund's betrayal were great. He had sided with the Witch; now the Witch owned him, owned the right to shed his blood. The Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea Himself had granted her the right to have blood, and had written that right into the Stone Table, a great grim slab of grey stone supported on four upright stones, and covered with a language no one could read, as foreign to you as the marks on your scrolls right now. And Aslan knew it.

The Witch herself came into Aslan's camp, with His permission, to claim the right she'd been given. But how could Peter, Susan, and Lucy give him up? Aslan would not fight His Father, for He loved and obeyed Him. And yet Aslan loved Edmund, loved him even though Edmund had betrayed Him. And yet, if the Witch was not given her right, all Narnia would perish. And Aslan loved Narnia too.

So Aslan spoke with the Witch, where no one else could hear, and offered her a trade. He would give the Witch His own blood, His own life, in exchange for Edmund's. And the Witch said yes.

Oh, my prince, you can cry. For Aslan Himself knows what death is, and that it makes us weep.

All that day, Aslan walked among His own, and prepared them to fight without Him the day after, to fight the Witch and her army. And that night, with only Susan and Lucy beside Him, he went back to where the Witch waited, and after hiding the future queens, surrendered Himself to the Witch. He died by her hand on the Stone Table where her right was written.

'Tis said the queens cried, all night, and hope within them died. Death had taken it. And they loved Him, and mourned Him, and had no wish to live. When dawn itself came, when the Stone Table cracked and Aslan _lived_ —yes, _lived_ , my prince, brought back to life, cracking the table that had the Witch's right—the queens were afraid of Aslan when they saw Him, afraid that hope was a lie, and death was the truth. But they knew Him soon, as He breathed on them, and the first thing He did was teach them to play and laugh and live again; to _hope_ , for death itself was working backwards the morning He came alive again.

And He freed those whom the Witch had robbed of life, and brought them to the battle the Kings were fighting, and he killed the Witch, and Edmund, the one who had once been a traitor, had been the one to break the Witch's wand. And Narnia rang with life and hope for many, many years.

But that hope ended, my prince. For the Four vanished, and Narnia grieved. And Aslan, 'twas said, came to those who grieved. And now, my prince, as Old Narnia vanishes, as our hearts break with yearning for it, as we see our hopes for it disappear in this death, as we miss your mother, I think here, too, Aslan will find a way to meet us. Please, Aslan, come and find us.

OOOOO

The two of them were both crying then, the prince curled into her.

" _Why_ is Momma gone, nurse? Why won't she come back?"

"I don't know, my prince," the nurse whispered. She kissed his head, trying not to wipe her tears in his hair. "I don't know why. I don't know why me, you, and her weren't enough; I don't know what more we could have needed to set Narnia free; I don't know why she couldn't have just become queen. It makes my heart sick, not knowing, not knowing what to hope, or how to love when everything but you I seem to be losing. But let's hope she's gone to Aslan's country, my prince, where one day you'll meet again. Where she's home, and well, and waiting for you."

"Waiting for me?"

"I think so, my prince. I hope."

"When can I go?"

She tightened her grip, then loosened it when he whimpered. "Not for a while, my prince, Aslan willing. Not for a while. We all have to wait now."

Neither spoke again for a while, the nurse rocking the child as he quieted once more.

The nurse held Prince Caspian tighter, resting her old cheek on his hair, and remembered something her mother had told her, when her uncle, the storyteller for Old Narnia, had died at the hands of Caspian the Ninth's soldiers. "Aslan grieves with us, my prince," she murmured. "It isn't an answer to _why_ , but tonight, it's answer enough. Aslan grieves with us."

OOOOO

A/N: Congratulations to Calyn, who guessed the queen would not return from this particular trip. I'm sorry to make you right; I liked the queen more and more. Also I offer my thanks to Anonymousme, who reminded a few chapters ago of the kindness of the queen to Doctor Cornelius, which helped to shape this entire queen arch of the story.


	10. Chapter 9 - Missing Mothers

Chapter Nine: Missing Mothers

Disclaimer: Anyone who has read Lewis's work would know with a crystal clarity that my work wasn't his, so the idea of me owning what he wrote is absurd. But for any who may have doubted that fact, no, I have no pretensions of owning Narnia.

A/N: Thank you, PadrePedro and Anonymousme for reviewing; it's a lovely encouragement to keep writing.

OOOOO

The prince cried most nights; the nurse requested her bed be moved to his nursery. Some nights she whispered stories, when he was inconsolable; some nights she just held him and rocked him. During the day she was careful to try new things she thought the prince would love, things that had no association with his mother, giving him new interests. She took him boating on the river, his men-in-waiting staying on the shore, and told him in a low voice of the naiads and the river gods who ruled and loved them. Frank the cat sat in the bow, upright, eyes alert, and Caspian, for the first time, laughed when the cat saw a spot of light reflected from the metal that held the oars in place and pounced on it. Wriggling the oars brought a bit of movement to the light as well, and Caspian spent an hour doing just that. The next time they went out, the nurse brought a small mirror. Caspian loved it. Realising her future king needed more than stories to rule well, she took him further and further through the waters, telling him stories to fix the rivers on his memory, showing him on maps where the rivers went.

She took him to the stables to visit horses (he was too small to ride), and they attended the birth of new pony, a horse named Destrier, Caspian wide-eyed as new life was born. That night before bed she told him the stories of the tall dryad of a beech tree, who had loved watching new life be born, and who became Narnia's first midwife, helping animals with any difficult pregnancies, whose longer fingers could reach far turn fillies and colts who were turned the wrong direction, or who made ointment for kittens whose mother had too many. He asked if Frank would have kittens, and she found herself unexpectedly teaching him about the differences between male and female cats; she had not realised she knew so much herself.

In the middle of teaching Caspian to live again, she found he'd done the same for her. His laugh, which she sought so much, gave her reason to smile. The interest that lit his face caught her interest in other things as well, and she realised, one evening as she rocked him, that the best way to remember the queen was to care for what she had loved, her golden-haired son. And so she began to pray again, that Aslan would prepare him to be a king, and bring back the days of Old Narnia.

But Miraz's lady, Lady Prunaprismia, did not allow that hope to flourish.

Childless herself, and whispered about by court gossips, she came to visit her nephew. The nurse, who had been sitting on the chair and resting after a game of "It," stood quickly and curtsied, for the Lady wasn't one who let others neglect forms of reverence. Caspian, who was not at all tired after the recent game of chase, ran up to his aunt and, out of curiosity, grabbed hold of the part of her dress that was embroidered with golden thread, angling it to reflect the light onto the floor near Frank. Pursing her lips in disapproval, the Lady Prunaprismia removed it from his hands by stepping away from him.

"Is there something your ladyship desires?" the nurse asked, holding her hand out to Caspian to call him to her, hoping to defuse a situation that could go very poorly.

"I am here to see my nephew," Lady Prunaprismia said stiffly. She stepped down into the nursery and went to the nearest chair—the story chair. Perhaps repelled by the expression on her face, Caspian did not go to her again once she was sitting, but remained by his nurse.

The lady sat in the chair and said nothing more. "Is there any specific activity your ladyship would like to do with him?" the nurse asked, wondering what the lady thought one did with children.

Lady Prunaprismia frowned at her. "I will do what his mother did, of course. I am the closest thing he has to a mother now."

The nurse's fingers dug into Caspian's shoulder, and he yelped. She lightened her grip quickly, but still had to steady her breathing. This red-headed, plump figure with the expressions of a _hag_ , Caspian's surrogate mother? For once, the nurse was not afraid. "Perhaps your ladyship would like to play with him," she said with all the sweetness she'd heard dripping from Lord Sopespian's tongue around the Lord Protector. "We just finished a game of It, and I'm afraid he wore this old woman out. But a young, healthy lady like yourself would be the perfect playmate. Would you like to chase or flee?"

The red-headed woman all but glared. "I do not _run_ ," she glowered. "I will take the child through his more sedentary activities. It is the hour after lunch, and he should be letting his food settle; one should not move much for an hour's time after eating. I will tell my nephew a story." She held her hand out imperiously towards Caspian, and the nurse sighed. She could tell from Caspian's face that he wouldn't like his aunt, so there was no harm in trying to humor her. She walked Caspian forward, and set him on the stool close to the chair, pulling a nearby light wooden chair over for herself.

"Another stool, you fool," Lady Prunaprismia snapped. The nurse paused, looking to the lady.

"I'm sorry, your ladyship?"

"A servant may not sit at the same level as her betters, 'tis the common rule of court. Go get another stool."

Wordlessly, the nurse pulled the chair back and went across the room to get the stool by the window. Wordlessly, because she was afraid of what she'd say if she spoke. It was bad enough to make an old woman with aching bones sit on a stool, but for the nurse to be humiliated in front of Caspian burned. She set the stool beside Caspian's and sat without comment, gentling a little when his hand slipped into her lap to hold on to her. He at least was glad to have her this near to him.

"Once, eight years ago, there were two brothers who were also two princes of the royal dominion of Narnia and had all the rights and duties thereof. Their names were Caspian and Miraz, and the two of them were kingly in deportment. Their valor was proclaimed far and wide, and Caspian was an adventurer, and Miraz was a great ruler. Together they did many things which expanded Narnia's borders, till Caspian, who was born first and for that reason was made into the heir according to legal law, was distracted by a woman whom he courted and made queen."

Caspian, who at six really could not be blamed for not listening to a tale of pomp and circumstance, interrupted his aunt. "You're not as pretty as my mother," he told his aunt gravely. "And she told better stories." The nurse almost choked on a quickly-suppressed laugh. Oh, the honesty of children. The Lady Protector had gone white with fury beneath her red hair, lips pressed firmly together, fingers trembling on her lap. Caspian, Aslan bless him, hadn't noticed; his eyes were filling with tears. "I miss my mother!" He turned to the norse, burying his head in her lap and starting to cry. The nurse rubbed her hand up and down his back, staying on her stool while the Lady Prunaprismia rose slowly. She probably meant it to look majestic, but as she stood she overbalanced, and had to stagger to save herself.

"I will leave my nephew now," she said coldly. "But be assured my Lord and myself will be paying careful attention to his upbringing." And with a rustling of skirts and a stiff back that vanished through the doorway, she was gone.

"Hush, my prince, hush," the nurse soothed. She tried not to let the lady's last words disconcert her. Miraz had all the power now; if his lady was not pleased with her, would Miraz dismiss her? She turned her thoughts away from that frightening idea, focusing on the problem crying in her lap. "Hush, my prince, help an older lady to stand, please?" Still crying, he stood and pulled on her hands. She stood with a groan, sinking into the story chair and pulling his stool close. He sat again without prompting, and looked at her with reddening eyes. She winced at his grief; it wasn't one she could take away.

She searched her mind, looking for a story that would ease the prince's grief, but capture his attention. A story about mothers, about missing mothers...oh. Well, there was that one, but she didn't know it well. She looked at the boy waiting by her feet; he wouldn't care. She began…

OOOOO

Do you remember, my prince, long long ago, when Narnia first began? Yes, the king, Narnia's first king, he was there. Yes, there was a horse too! But there were other humans too, a man with a little heart, a girl with a loyal heart, and a boy with a heart full of pain for his mother.

His mother was very, very sick, like yours was. She was white, and tired often. She, like your mother, loved her son with all her heart, but was not strong enough to get better on her own. And when the boy first came to Narnia and saw how beautiful it was, and breathed its air, and the man with a little heart called it the land of youth, the boy's first thought was to wonder if his mother would get better here.

And all the time, Aslan was singing and making Narnia. And the boy, who had no help from the man with the little heart, turned to find the person all people who need help turn to: the Lion Himself.

But that was a scary thing, my prince. Not only does Aslan know you and your heart, like the King Edmund and his eyes, but He is a Lion. If Frank, my prince, were the color of the sun, and as large as the horses we saw yestersun, he would look like the Lion. And his mouth, remember, when Frank yawns? If it were big enough to swallow you, it would be scary to walk towards. And Aslan Himself is good, my prince, but good can be fearful. Hmm? Why? Remember, when you've been bad, do you want to be around good people? No, and Aslan is so good, all bad things become wretched memories in His presence. And the boy, though he had a heart full of love for his mother, had also been afraid, and angry. And he had done something very, very bad. In a different world, he had woken up the White Witch from her sleep, and then, when he ran from her, he pulled her from his world, and into Narnia.

And all the beautiful, wonderful things Aslan had made were in danger, because the White Witch hated them from the moment she heard the song that made them. And she plotted to destroy them, and bound Narnia to a hundred years of misery, as you have heard and remember, my prince. But she would not have heard the song to hate it, nor set a single foot in Narnia, if the boy had heeded a warning and let her sleep. But he was deaf in his anger, and did not listen, and woke her. Remember that, my prince. Angry people do foolish things, and you can become very angry when you are afraid. Instead, call on Aslan's name.

But the boy did not know Aslan yet, he only knew the Lion had power, good power, and a song that sang in all hearts. And the boy followed the Lion, and asked for his help for the mother that was so sick. But the Lion, who does all things in their time, charged the boy in front of the new creation with the evil he had done, and the boy admitted it with sorrow. And the Aslan charged the boy to help to heal what he had done wrong, and sent the boy, the girl with a loyal heart, and the horse on a journey. Some stories say the horse had wings on his back, my prince, and could fly over the tallest mountains, but other tales say the horse had wings on his feet, and could run with such speed a mountain took only a moment to cross. But either way, Aslan sent the three on a quest, one to repair what he had done, and two for love of the boy and the Lion. And the boy went where the Lion commanded, and found an apple tree that had apples of magic, ones that could heal any of the sick. Oh, my prince, he _wanted_ to take one for his mother, you are right about that. But there was a warning on the gates that said they had to be taken for others, only for others, and he had already taken one for the Lion, and then run, for do you know who else had come to take those apples? The White Witch? And she was far stronger and wilder than the boy, and he had run from her, and only had one apple. And he had a choice, a choice the Witch forced him to realise, to give the apple to his mother, or to the Lion.

And though his heart ached, and he was miserable enough he could cry, he knew his mother would have wanted him to keep his promise to the Lion Aslan, and to heal what he had done wrong, and he and the horse and girl went back to the Lion, and the Lion said "Well done."

Just think of that, my prince. Aslan Himself, saying "Well done," in a voice that shook the earth, so all of Narnia heard it. And he told the boy to throw the apple by a river. And from where the apple was thrown from the boy's hand, a tree grew, a tree that would keep the White Witch away for hundreds upon hundreds of years. But Aslan gave one more gift to the boy, and he told the boy to go get an apple from the tree by the river, and to take it to his mother. And the boy obeyed, and went back to his own world, and we believe his mother was healed by it.

The tree now? Years and years later, my prince, it was torn down, for the Narnians neglected their charge, and thus came the White Witch's winter. We forget, sometimes, that commands are just as important now as they were hundreds of years ago, and when we break them we cry as the boy did before Aslan for what we have done wrong.

Oh, no, my prince, we cannot reach those apples now. I am sorry, my prince, but we could not have cured your mother. Aslan called her home, as he called the boy's mother one day, as He will call you and me. But there we will not only sing the song He sang, but eat the fruit He made, and never, ever cry again.

OOOOO

The prince was crying, but quietly, with only a few tears. She reached with her skirt and dried them, then took his hand and led him to supper. And she was relieved, for the tears were of sadness, not of grief, and sadness was easier to bear. And that night, when he went to sleep, he slept through the night, and her heart took hope for him.

But not for herself, and she did not sleep. Hours after she lay down, she got up and went silently to the window.

She had helped her prince, by Aslan's grace. But not herself. The chill of Lady Prunaprismia's words still wrapped around her, and she wondered if she would lose the last thing she had that she loved. "Aslan," she whispered to herself, "You are real? These stories I'm telling; I am growing afraid that they're just stories. But the prince—surely only stories that are true could help the prince as much as these have. Narnia—it's still Yours?" She waited, but heard nothing. "I am afraid," she said softly. "Afraid, and I do not want to be a fool myself. Please, Aslan, if you are real, help us."

And suddenly, softly, the air about her stirred, as if a great beast had blown on her, warm and wild, and her heart ceased fretting and was at peace. And though she heard nothing by way of answer, when she went back to the bed and laid down, she, like Caspian, slept the night through, and woke with the dawn the next morning.


	11. Chapter 10 - Traitors Redeemed

Chapter 10: Traitors Redeemed

Disclaimer: Stories were meant to help the blind see beauty and the deaf hear truth, and belong to the author of all stories. But He made authors as well as stories, and Lewis is the author of Narnia, and not me.  
Anything underlined is a direct quote from Lewis's works.

A/N: Kudos to anyone who can find the (one-word-altered) movie quote in the first part of the story.

That morning changed the lives of the prince and nurse. Lady Prunaprismia saw her nephew as seldom as she could and still remain respectable, but Miraz, the Lord Protector, called for his nephew once or twice a week. It started the day after the red-headed-harpy (to quote the nurse's strictly guarded thoughts) visited; Miraz called for his nephew, and took him for walk along the castle battlements. He came running back to the nursery after the door opened, and the nurse caught him with open arms. Asking him about his walk, she found that Miraz had merely asked about how much he missed his mother, and what he thought of swords. Three days later the Lord Protector called again, and Caspian had much the same tale to tell. Each time he spent maybe half an hour with the boy, giving him the careless, absent notice of a grown-up who doesn't understand children, and don't seem to remember being one. The nurse breathed easier; it seemed the Lord Protector was content to be minimally involved in his nephew's life.

That didn't mean life didn't change outside the nursery walls, however. The Lord Protector had exercised some control over court and kingdom after his brother's death, but now, with the only royal personage under the age of six, he took control over every part of Narnia the Telmarines commanded. And as his power grew, good people began to die. The tears of the Telmarines fell as frequently as the tears Older Narnians had when Caspian the Third started to hunt. Lords like Sopespian, Glozell, and their ilk followed Miraz like he was Aslan; the less powerful Telmarines began to fear their Lord Protector.

One day the prince mentioned it to his nurse, asking why the servants rarely greeted him in the halls anymore. The nurse, who was very tired and limping from a toy she stepped on, took a moment to realise the prince often only walked with his uncle these days, and the Lord Protector would scarcely encourage such interactions. She remembered a promise she had made, one that still made her ache sometimes, to train Caspian to be different than his uncle, and she set down the books she was shelving and went and took his hands.

But took a moment before speaking, though he looked at her curiously. Carefully—very, very carefully, she needed to watch every word. The Lord Protector had the power of Narnia now, and it would not do for his nephew to openly contradict or despise him; it would be the end of both their lives.

And she was not ready to lose his. Not him, not so soon after his mother. Even if Aslan had calmed much of her fear, she knew it was still a possibility she needed wisdom to avoid.

"My prince, who is the _best_ king you can think of?"

"High King Peter!" Caspian exclaimed. "Not King Edmund, 'cause he did bad things, and not Digory, 'cause he did bad things too, and wasn't a king. And King Frank was good, but not as strong, 'cause he never fought anyone."

The nurse was startled. She had not realised the prince had thought of the qualities of kings so much—but that was to the good. There was one thing she had to correct.

"Oh, no, my prince, High King Peter made mistakes too. Perhaps tomorrow I'll tell you a story about one of his mistakes, where he is far too stubborn. Also, fighting takes being strong, but sometimes being king at peace takes strength too; the strength to help people; strength to make the whole kingdom strong. During the days of the four, most Narnians would be hard pressed to say which king was the better of the two brothers, with such different strengths. But indeed, King Edmund was a better king than he would have been otherwise, _because_ he was a forgiven traitor. It is one of the wonderful things about Aslan, that the forgiven ones become some of the best people in Aslan's country. So you must be careful, my prince, to remember to give compassion and forgiveness the way Aslan does; to see people's weakness with mercy and not anger. Your uncle may still be learning that, or learning something else first, and the servants may be a little scared to talk to him right now. But you are young, my prince, and perhaps now may be the best time to learn. So I will tell you a story, of a forgiven person saving another person from her mistake."

"Who is in the story?" the prince asked eagerly, running over to his stool and beginning to bounce on it as he waited for the nurse to limp over.

"Queen Susan, my prince, and a faun named Tumnus, and King Edmund. It was in the days when the queen and king went to Calormen, to hear their Prince Rabadash speak his love for the beautiful Queen Susan." She stopped at the prince's frown.

"Is this a kissing story?" he asked in the disgusted tones of a little boy.

The nurse began to laugh. "No, my prince, it is not! For the Queen, though she liked the prince at first, soon found him to be an enemy of Aslan and all goodness, and would never have kissed him…

OOOOO

Do you remember when Queen Lucy first came to Narnia, she met a faun? That's right, he was wearing something red, a muffler round his neck. He was walking in the snow, an umbrella over his head, and packages on his arm. This was still when the White Witch ruled, for the four had just come to Narnia. And though Lucy did not know it, she was drawn into the war from the moment she met the faun Tumnus. For after their first meeting she gave Tumnus her friendship, and Tumnus gave her his, at great risk. For Tumnus had known the White Witch, and the White Witch knew him.

He never said how he first met the Witch. But when he did, he agreed to serve her, to be paid by her to kidnap humans if he met them. Yes, my prince, even boys like you, or girls like Lucy. He would take them to the White Witch, and she would wave her wand and turn them to stone! And you would be a stone statue in her court for a very, very long time, your golden curls grey and cold, and unable to move. That was what the Witch planned for the humans Tumnus would bring to her.

Tumnus did this partly because he was afraid of the Witch, and partly because he did not know what humans were like. Remember, my prince, that many people do evil things because they are afraid or ignorant, and they are to be taught courage and wisdom, rather than scorned. But even so, it will be your duty as king to punish them, too, for the evil they do does not go away once they repent.

Queen Lucy—little girl Lucy then, though it is strange to think of her that way—not for you? I suppose it is not so strange for you, my prince, but in my mind she is the laughing, golden-haired Queen, the Valiant. But she was not that queen, not yet, when she met the faun in the forest. And Tumnus, once he recovered from his shock, did exactly what he had promised evil to do; he spoke kindly to the little girl and invited her home, and fed her tea and snacks—Old Narnian snacks, something called sardines, and indeed I do not know what those are, my prince, only that they were oily and put on bread, so I imagine it's like the Calormen paste Lord Rhoop and Lord Octesian are so fond of. But it is not a very bad thing to do, is it? To invite a little girl home and feed her, and play her music.

But the music, my prince, was as strong as magic, and it nearly put her to sleep. And that was what he wanted, for he meant to slip out while she was sleeping, and go tell the White Witch. But she roused herself—thank Aslan!—and told him politely she must go home. And he wept, my prince, I think perhaps because the music roused his heart as well, and told her all that he had done. And as she pleaded with him not to take her to the Witch, but to take her home, he agreed, for she had become something precious to him. She had become his friend.

And thus, my prince, Queen Lucy taught him courage. But he had still meant to do an evil thing, and worse, he had promised evil to do this evil thing, and he was later punished for it. For the White Witch found out later, from the rambling words of Edmund, that his sister had met a faun, and knew he meant Tumnus. And the Witch sent her wolves to Tumnus's home in anger, and they dragged him to her castle, and there she did to him what he had promised to help her do to others. And the faun who had learned courage was turned to stone, to stand in her halls. And since his punishment was right, he spoke of it later with tears, for he knew he did not deserve to be saved from it.

But Aslan, our own, glorious, living Aslan, my prince, when He died for Edmund, He also gained the right to help all traitors—all of them, my prince. And so when He, Queen Susan, and Queen Lucy stormed the Witch's castle and He brought life back to all the statues inside it, Tumnus became one of His own as well. And Tumnus, who had learned courage and wisdom, who had been punished, and then restored, helped the kings and queens for as long as they remained in our world.

Why? Because many times, my prince, it is those who have been forgiven the most who understand forgiveness and goodness best. And it is often to them that Aslan speaks.

And the kings and queens needed him. Long, long after, a prince of Calormen came to Narnia, and burned with desire (his words, my prince) for the Queen Susan. And with the cunning of Calormenes he wooed her, doing marvellous feats in the tournaments of Narnia, and meekly and courteously receiving the praise he was offered. And what he showed of himself stirred Queen Susan's heart, though he was no worshipper of Aslan, and she agreed to go to his city, as he requested.

But her brothers, wise beyond their years, did not agree to let her go alone, and King Edmund went with her. And also, among the ones who followed the Queen and King, was the faun named Tumnus, trusted by now to go even with his sovereigns to an uneasy ally and council them.

And there, in the great, busy, noisy, and strange city of Tashbaan, Queen Susan learned to see that those who follow another god don't have Aslan's goodness. Rabadash was a most proud, bloody, luxurious, cruel and self-pleasing tyrant. As his god was.

And Tumnus had been given the wit to see it, for even within the city, he told his sovereigns that he hated every stone of it, and longed for Narnia. But he had heard something he related to the King and Queen, that warned them that Prince Rabadash, in his self-pleasing pride, would take Queen Susan as his wife or his slave, whether she willed yes or no.

Think of that, my prince! One of the four, torn from her brothers and sister, taken from the country Aslan had given her to rule, and made into a prisoner of a cruel prince who would only hurt her. At the beginning she had not understood evil, had not recognized it, and now she learned to see it clearly. She learned wisdom. But she, the king, and the Narnians they had brought with them looked around the house, and thought about the many roads leading out of the city, and they knew the prince would not let them leave.

Hmm? No, my prince, they did not fight. It would be foolishness to fight! Could you, with one sword, fight all your uncle's knights and soldiers? No, my prince, though you might fight well, they would kill you in the end. Your only choice would be to flee. Even so it was with the Narnians. Though they fought till each man died, still the prince would come and take the Queen anyway, and all the Narnians would be lost.

And yet they could not run, for all the roads were blocked.

But Aslan gave them a way out, my prince, and do you know how He did it? Through the faun who had once served the White Witch. Aslan had reclaimed him, made him Aslan's own, and now, as he thought and thought, he had an idea to save the king and queen he loved.

They pretended, my prince, that they were going to have a feast on the boat they sailed to Tashbaan in. And they went to market and bought the food, and asked for music, and probably talked about decorations, and invited Prince Rabadash to come to it, so that he would be happy, and that night they all went on board, as if they were preparing for the party—and left!

Yes, my prince, left! And Aslan gave them swift winds, and a few days later they sailed into their home, and thanked Aslan for it.

But the Queen's punishment was not quite over, my prince. For she was not just a girl, who liked a boy, but a Queen who spurned the hand of a prince. And he was angry, my prince, very angry, for he was proud and the Queen had hurt his pride by telling him no. So he gathered a small army, as large as four hunting parties, all put together! And rode to attack Narnia's nearest neighbor, to enslave everyone in it, and from there to go take Queen Susan back to Tashbaan.

And attack he did. It was a battle, my prince! Sword on sword, a tree hewn down as a battering ram for the gate, archers releasing their arrows from the battlements!

But by Aslan's grace it _was_ a battle, for that wasn't what Rabadash intended. If an army of four hunting parties came in to this castle tonight, my prince, do you think they would have to fight hard? Think a moment.

Why not?

Exactly; we would be sleeping, and no swords at our sides. But Aslan sent a little boy to warn the castle, and that gave them a chance to fight. And Aslan Himself came at the end of the battle, and did something very strange. He turned Prince Rabadash into a donkey!

That's right, a donkey! Can you bray like a donkey? That's it!

But Rabadash didn't stay a donkey. Aslan gave the prince hope of being a man again, but warned him if he left Tashbaan and fought more wars, he would turn into a donkey again, and never, ever be a prince, or a king.

OOOOO

"And so, my prince, Queen Susan's mistake brought peace for all the countries around Tashbaan, for years and years and years, after Aslan came to her aid. So be gentle, wise, and just with those who make mistakes, even miserable people who complain or annoy you, for you never know how Aslan might redeem them into His own."

Prince Caspian looked up at her. "I would like to be a statue," he announced.

The nurse smiled, gravely, so not to make fun of him, but still—he was such a joy. "Why, my prince?"

"Because it would be easy to sit still for my lessons!" He added quickly, "But only for after lunch. Then I'd want Aslan to come save me!"

"Every afternoon?"

"Yes!"

"Then how would you write the answers?"

The prince frowned, but only for a second. "I'd tell my teacher I couldn't, statues don't write!"

The nurse laughed out loud at that, and gestured the prince up, and back to his toys. Slowly and painfully (she really was getting old), she got up from her chair, and slowly went back to shelving books. Caspian came over a few seconds later, and started handing them to her so she wouldn't have to bend down.

Aslan, she loved this child.

"Nurse?"

"Yes, my prince?"

"Why didn't Rababaash...him, why didn't he like being a donkey?"

"Perhaps because nobody is afraid of a donkey, my prince, and he liked when people were afraid of him."

"Why?"

"Because he thought that meant he was strong. Not at all like King Edmund or High King Peter."

The prince pondered that for a moment, handing the nurse the last of the books. She went to fold his royal capes, and he went back to his toys. A moment later, though:

"Nurse?"

She continued folding. "Yes?"

"If Uncle Miraz meets Aslan, will he change? Like Tumnus?"

The nurse paused again. The prince had noticed the distance in the servants, already, but she had not expected the child to notice his uncle was in need of changing. She turned around.

"Change?"

The prince wasn't actually playing with the toys, but running his fingers over them again. "So that people stop crying, like I cry for Momma."

She ached to go to him, to hold him, to tell him it was ok. But—Miraz had power, and it wasn't, and the prince might need answers more than he needed hugs. "I do not know, my prince. Some who meet Aslan hate Him, and some who meet Him love Him. Those who love Him, change. Those who hate Him become more and more like Prince Rabadash, evil and cruel." She saw the prince's troubled face, and walked over to place her hand on his head. "Aslan alone knows if your uncle will change, my prince. But I do know that if Aslan wants to save him, your uncle will be saved." And the shadows on the prince's face cleared, and he started playing with his toys again.

Why was it, the nurse thought, that a little child could ask the questions that challenged even her faith? Miraz, murderer, malicious pretender—changed?

Never say Aslan can't.

Right?

OOOOO

Response to Anonymousme: I'd read the majority of the authors you mentioned, and liked all of them. Thanks for the recommendation!  
As for this story, since the major theme is the way the legends shaped Caspian, and then his reaction as he met the legends as people, it ends a lot sooner than you requested-sorry! I don't want it to outlive its theme. It will switch perspectives in Part II, which happens in 4-5 chapters, and that's something I'm rather nervous about-the nurse has been easy to write, but I don't know how well I'll be able to change the character and keep the theme; a splending writing exercise, but not necessarily a splendid story! If you have any constructive criticism when it happens, I would welcome that!


	12. Chapter 11 - Someone Save Us

Chapter 11: Someone to Save Us

Disclaimer: It's a snowy Saturday morning, when the sun is sleeping, and it seems anything is possible. But even on mornings like this, I never dream of owning Narnia. My own world, maybe, someday-but this one is Lewis's.

A/N: Can anyone pick out the paraphrased quote I inserted in here?

 **Author's warning:** Please be aware there is a momentary, vague reference to an unpleasant event below.

OOOOO

The next morning it became very, very clear-annoyingly clear-that Caspian remembered the nurse's promise to tell a story of High King Peter, for every half hour he would ask "Is it story time yet?" High King Peter was his favorite character; she wondered if that would change as he grew older, and understood better the worth of any king-or carpenter or blacksmith, for that matter-who followed Aslan. But for now, he was young, and his joy in his favorite made her smile.

At least, it did when he wasn't asking for a story so constantly.

"No, my prince, it will be when we put all the toys away and the nursery is clean." She came back from taking his linens to the wash-maids to find he had straightened the nursery to the best of his ability, and was sitting expectantly, body bouncing, on his story stool. "No, my prince, _after dinner_ when we clean your nursery, when it gets dark outside and it's almost time for bed." She caught him later trying to draw the curtains, or climbing up on his bed. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or pound her head on the wall; it was good to see him so intent on something, but his persistence was _irritating_.

She took him to the stables, finally. It made an excellent distraction, and though Miraz's attitude of fear was creeping in, it warmed her to see how people still loved the golden, smiling prince. Their care for him also made her job easier, and she leaned against a wooden stall door, smelling the fresh hay, and breathed easier.

I need to bring him around his people more, she thought as she watched a stablehand laugh at Caspian's solemn excitement as he ran his hand down the brown foreleg in imitation of the farrier beside him, and the well-trained horse lifted its hoof. Caspian struggled to catch it, and the stablehand easily reached down and caught the end with one hand, reaching with the other to place the prince's hands where he could hold it.

But not too often, the fear in her heart whispered. It would not do for Miraz to be feared and Caspian to be openly loved.

Loud, clanging hoofbeats, metal horseshoes running fast on stone, rang just outside the stable, and the nurse jerked. Caspian's hands slipped from the horse's leg and he fell back; she swooped and picked him up, for she knew the sound.

It was the sound of couriers, messengers, riding with important news.

And in Miraz's Narnia, she was coming to believe that all news was bad news.

The messenger rode right into the stable, sliding off his foam-streaked horse and just leaving it, running to the palace to deliver his news. The nurse, thanking the stablehand quietly as he went forward to care for the panting horse, also turned to the palace. She could take an early lunch for the prince, she thought, and find out the news from the servants.

Aslan-give her courage for this.

The news had spread by the time it took her slow steps to walk from stable to kitchen; she knew because there were only perfunctory curtsies, not the joy Caspian usually created. He seemed to sense it, and clung to her rather than asking to be set down. She settled him at one end of a table, allowing him to eat in the kitchen for once, and went to go find Leisa, the sensible, middle-aged maid who had helped answer her questions before.

When she found her, she was cutting onions, mincing them, the knife in her hand pushing harder and harder through the layers of white vegetable, almost cutting through the wood beneath it. And she was crying. She looked up at the nurse's hobbling footsteps, and didn't bother wiping her eyes. An freshly-cut onion was a good excuse.

"I don't have the prince's lunch," she said abruptly. She looked back down and cut, knife still hitting wood with a hard, hollow sound.

"I came to ask if you knew what the messenger rode so hard to say," the nurse asked quietly. The knife paused, and Leisa looked at the onion with savageness in her face.

"When I was nineteen, I was beautiful," she said, her expression unchanging. "A knight, one connected to the royal family, saw me washing linens and tried to overpower me. The Lords of Beaversdam were adventuring through the woods-they were young then too, young and noble in the old sense-" her voice caught, and for the first time she wiped away tears. But it didn't make a difference, they kept filling her eyes and falling down. "They saved me, and got me a post in the kitchen where I'd be around others and be safe. They made Narnia _safe_ , and loved good things, and because they," and the knife cut, "loved it enough to seek it, and came back with stories of it," and the knife slashed through the onion, "they're locked up as madmen." The knife paused. "Locked up," she whispered in pain, "when it's been their life, all of it, to seek out new life and new things, to go where no one has gone before." And she bent over, knife falling sideways to lie still on the cutting board, as she wept. And the nurse, helpless, could only offer the same kind of comfort she offered Caspian, and smoothed back Leisa's hair, her arm around the maid's shoulders, pulling her back to sit on a stool.

She didn't stay long; Leisa wasn't one to cry for a long period of time. And Caspian might be finishing his lunch, and it wouldn't be wise to leave him to his own devices in a new area. He was too like the Lords of Beaversdam for that, she thought with a pang. Unlike his uncle, who _wasn't_ changing. She knew traitors had been redeemed, and king's mistakes had been mended, but she wished she had Caspian's faith about Aslan's ability to change his uncle. This didn't seem like change.

She took the prince, and they played quietly the rest of the afternoon. To her relief, Caspian didn't ask questions. She didn't want to tell him the last people his mother had seen had lost their freedom and the ability to do what they loved.

But that evening, as she promised, she took her place on the story chair and told Caspian the tale of one of High King Peter's mistakes.

OOOOO

When Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy became kings and queens, my prince, they were children; Lucy may not have been older than you are now. Would you like to be a king, with Peter, Susan, and Edmund as your older siblings? Yes, I thought you might.

But though they were children, Aslan left them with Narnia in their hands. And their first few years were overwhelmed with lessons. All day, my prince, when they were not helping people, they were learning about Narnia. It was a very different life than yours. They would get up in the morning, very early, and practice with swords, bows, and arrows. After that they would have breakfast, like you, but then the four would go to the library-yes, where you're not allowed-and read, and listen to their teachers, and write. More than how to be good kings and queens, my prince-Aslan was teaching them that, for to be a good king one must be a good man-they had to learn what Narnia was, how laws worked, where it was in our whole world, and who their friends and enemies were, and how to fight battles. For though they had fought one, they knew there were probably more to come. They wanted to be ready.

The whole morning was spent learning, my prince. And then, afternoons were spent doing different kinds of lessons, the kinds that come as we get to know people, as we work with them, serve them, and sometimes, judge them. And in the evening, twas said, the four would come together for dinner and spend the evening in their chambers, talking.

No, my prince, you cannot spend the day like that. Your uncle probably has a plan for you, as you get older, where you will have your own lessons. But the four had no one to rule for them while they were learning.

One evening, as the four were at ease in the gentle Queen Susan's room, the eldest queen turned and spoke to her sister.

"Lucy," the queen said, but her voice would be more melodious than mine, my prince, "what lessons have we tomorrow?"

"Cooking, with Sallowfight the Badger," the younger queen replied. (We know this, prince, because one of the guards assigned to the queen's chambers that night was an owl, and he could hear everything the sovereigns said, and he recounted the conversation later as the beginning of the trouble.)

"Oh, that's right! I couldn't-what is it, Peter?" (You must understand, my prince, that with each other they did not speak as their subjects did, but as siblings.)

"He wants to join the cooking lesson!" his younger brother ribbed. From the sounds inside the owl believed one brother had elbowed the other. "Why in Narnia do you want to learn to cook?"

The owl heard nothing.

"Seriously, Peter, why do you want to learn to cook? You never cared to learn in England." It was the Gentle Queen's voice.

The owl heard something muttered about "fun."

"Well, if you want to learn, have the steward add it to your lessons. But not tomorrow; you have other things to do," she replied briskly. "Come, shouldn't we go to bed?" And the four went.

And with normal boys, my prince, that would have been the end of it. But it was King Peter, and he rivalled his brother for stubbornness, so it wasn't.

The next morning the four attended to their weapons lessons, ate breakfast together, and went to the library. The librarian, a meticulous cat by the name of Brownpaw, noticed the High King skulking in a section of the library, peering at his brother and sisters from behind a shelf. Curious, the cat jumped on top of the shelf and sat to watch him, tail twitching. When the High King was sure his siblings were absorbed in their books, he walked quickly, with clunking footsteps, to the section of the library that held traditional Narnian recipes and tales of former feasts. Brownpaw followed with silent steps, jumping from shelf to shelf, always above the king's eyesight. The boy-king spent perhaps five or six minutes rifling through the books there before an impatient "Peter!" was heard from his younger brother. Setting the parchment in his hand inside his jacket, he hurried back and took his place, and didn't go back to that corner all morning. The cat, mysterious in the way of his kind, decided to keep watch.

That afternoon was the cooking lesson. And that afternoon, the High King did _not_ appear at the lesson he was supposed to attend, a lesson on the creation of treaties with foreign nations by a centaur. King Edmund did attend the lesson, and was most perturbed at his brother's absence. Finding his brother later, and receiving the most unsatisfactory explanation that "I got lost"-"For three whole hours, Pete?"-he decided to keep a watchful eye on his brother.

Later lessons, and nothing happened. Dinner, too, passed as normal. Conversation that evening was a bit less than usual, as the queens noticed that Peter seemed distracted and Edmund quizzical. Susan judged it was bedtime sooner than usual, thinking her brothers might be tired, and Peter agreed hastily. Very hastily.

So it was that Edmund, suspicions firmly intact, was waiting in a dark hallway outside his brother's room when the door opened a few hours later, and the High King slipped out, shivering as he slipped the door closed. What King Edmund did not notice was that there was a cat in the hall opposite him, tail twitching, also waiting. Thus it was that king and cat followed High King Peter down through several halls, trying not to shiver in the cool stone, watching as King Peter paused several times (his teachers would be proud) to avoid guards. They followed him into the bottom level of the castle, and into the kitchen.

There was no one else there. Peter had shut the door, but Edmund gently, quietly, pushed it back open a crack, and slipped inside, a shadow at his feet that he did not notice. Edmund faded into the shadows on one side of the enormous stone fireplace, and the shadow had leaped onto the top of a barrel above the fireplace, a tiny hiss escaping as one paw slipped inside the open top and splashed.

The High King, oblivious to all of this (to the shame of his teachers), had started gathering ingredients onto the table nearest the fire, along with a wooden bowl, a large spoon, and a parchment the shadow above the barrel recognized from the library. The High King stooped close to it, reading a portion, and then turning to the ingredients on the table. He reached for an egg, looked at it closely with brow furrowed, and then slammed it on the edge of the bowl.

It shattered, egg splashing his hand, the table, the bowl, and his shirtsleeve. Unable to help himself, King Edmund laughed. The High King whirled around.

"Edmund! What are you doing here?" The High King looked at his hand, like this, and turned very red, sticking it behind his back.

"Following you, of course. What _are_ you doing?"

The High King looked at the table and mumbled something. King Edmund moved closer.

"Seriously, Pete. First the cooking lesson-which is fine, just weird for you-and now this? Cooking at midnight? Why is this so important?"

The High King still didn't look up from the table. "It's the midsummer festival in two weeks," he muttered.

"Yes, and?"

"That's Lucy's birthday." He looked up at his brother then, somewhat helplessly. "Mum-back there, she always made us a cake, before the war. It was always Lu's favorite part of her birthday celebration, and it's not exactly a Narnian food. The closest I could come was a recipe of a foreign food at a Telmarine feast."

"You were going to make her one," King Edmund realised. He looked at the mess of egg on the side of the bowl, and back at his brother. "Why not just ask for help?" His brother shrugged. "Seriously, Peter, from what I've heard, cooking isn't easy in Narnia."

The High King set his mouth, like this. Yes, just like that, my prince, stubbornly. "It's _my_ birthday gift to her."

Perhaps his brother realised that arguing wasn't going to make a difference, because instead he said, "Can I help, and it be from both of us?"

One of the wonderful traits of the High King was his generosity. He loved sharing things with his siblings, and he gladly let his brother join where he would have rued any other Narnian, save his sister. Together the two kings learned how to crack an egg, and the High King showed his brother how to measure other ingredients, a skill learned in the cooking lesson he had covertly observed earlier that day. The cake was perhaps mixed too forcefully, the kings spelling each other in turns, and both panting and red by the end. But the batter for the cake was made, and the two kings triumphantly began looking about the kitchen for a pan to use. It was King Edmund who found it, one shaped like a heart that he thought would be perfect for his younger sister. High King Peter agreed, and the two of them poured the batter in and set the pan over the fire.

But they had neglected to notice something, something vital. For, my prince, there are pans for cooking things in the fire, made of metals, and things for fruits and other decorative foods, and those, my prince, are made of wood. And King Edmund, in the darkness of the corners of the kitchen, had chosen the latter. And they did not notice as they put it over the fire. So what do you think happened?

That's right, my prince, it caught fire! And the two kings, who had sat on a nearby bench to rest and weren't paying too much attention, the High King having reassured his brother that food took a long time to cook on banked fires.

By the time they noticed the flames were brighter than usual, the entire batter was aflame, and the heart-shaped bowl had pieces falling into the fire. The kings, yelping, grabbed tongs from beside the fireplace and pulled it out, yelling "Save it!." And, thoughtless in their panic, set the whole mess on the wooden table! It The embers from the burning bowl rolled over the wood surface and started to turn it black. Grabbing the tongs, they picked it up again, turning this way and that, King Edmund yelling at the High King to throw it in the fire, the High King yelling it was Lucy's birthday present and he had to save it! A meow, unheard in the commotion, sounded above them as Brownpaw the cat jumped between the barrel and the wall behind it, and _pushed_. The barrel slowly, slowly started to fall, and both kings, hearing it, looked up, just in time to receive a barrel-size bath of water as it completely overturned, squelching fire and yells all at once.

In the silence that descended, both kings heard running footsteps, and turned to see four guards, their sisters, and a few servants running in through the doorway, stopping when they saw the scorched table, leftover ingredients, and the two wet kings holding a blackened mess by tongs between them.

"Peter," the Gentle Queen demanded, " _what_ is going on here?"

And thus the High King, sheepishly, explained he'd meant to make Lucy a birthday cake, ("Oh, Peter, that's lovely of you!"), Edmund had found out, and they'd burned the cake.

"And you didn't think to ask for help?" their exasperated sister groaned, surveying the mess they had made in the poor cooks' kitchen.

The two brothers looked at each other.

"Well, go on then," King Edmund said, nudging his brother. "Explain to her it was _your_ present."

The Gentle Queen shook her head at the two of them. "To bed, everyone," she commanded, including the servants in her glance around the room, like this. "And tomorrow, Peter, you and Edmund can explain to Captain Farsell that you had to miss training because you were cleaning up the mess you'd burned in the kitchen."

"I can help," Lucy offered hesitantly, looking between her older siblings. Her words made all of them smile, though Susan still shook her head. "And Peter?" He looked down at the youngest sibling he'd made such a mess for, who'd run to hug him when he'd explained things. "For my birthday, can I teach you how to make a cake instead?"

The High King laughed. "Yes, Lu, if that's what you want!"

"To bed!" the elder queen commanded again, but she was smiling. As the four headed to bed, bowing their thanks first to the cat who had saved the kitchen, King Edmund pulled the High King back.

"Next time, Peter, ask for help?"

The High King-ever one to admit his own failings, though those grew fewer as he got older-promised, then pointed out that at least he'd learned a good lesson that night.

"A king should never be too stubborn to ask for help?"

The High King grinned. "No, even kings need someone to save them!"

OOOOO

The nurse finished, and looked at her charge expectantly. That hadn't been the story she'd meant to tell of the High King's mistakes-there were costlier ones than that-but she'd needed something lighthearted. And the prince had seemed to enjoy it. "I want to cook," he announced to her just then. She hugged him, catching him and his sunshine-lit heart to her, and said perhaps someday she'd ask if he could learn at least one skill while they were in the kitchens.

He went to bed soon after, though not without asking for "one more story? Please?" She stroked his hair to send him to sleep, and then hobbled to a chair to sit down.

Two more Lords. She looked over at Caspian's bed. He was a boy, just a boy. And a future king, _if he survived_. He needed saving far more than the High King had that night. Please, Aslan, she begged inside, for she'd lost the courage to say His name in this castle, send someone to save this king.

And don't let it be her, for though she loved him, she was an old woman who hobbled and feared to speak Aslan's name. She was not enough.

Please, Aslan, send someone to save my king. Someone who is enough.

OOOOO

Response to Anonymousme: I've definitely had nights when I was too tired to write. I've read Rose and Psyche as well, and enjoyed their works. I hope you have a wonderful weekend!


	13. Chapter 12 - The Lessening of the Loyal

Chapter 12: The Lessening of the Loyal

Disclaimer: Narnia does not belong to me today, tomorrow, or on any particular day of the week.  
Anything underlined is a direct quote from Lewis's works.

A/N: The putting in of Lions and Trees as a reminder of Old Narnia was a suggestion from Anonymousme. Thank you!  
Also, this is a monster of a chapter. Sorry? Blame the dwarves, they're stubborn. It's also why I'm only posting one chapter this week.

OOOOO

The news of the imprisonment of the two Lords of Beaversdam rippled through the castle. Though eccentric, there were few, nobility or servants, who had not seen the goodness the two lords lived, day to day and moment to moment. A few, the Lady Belisar told the nurse, tried to convince themselves the two had actually gone mad over time, and their new leader was stopping them from doing any harm to themselves. Others thought something they'd seen on their adventures drove them mad, and the queen had visited them to find out what this new threat was. There were some nobles who simply held their tongues.

But the attitude of the castle was rife with fear. The nurse, trying to persuade herself not to fear and failing, watched the Lord Protector more closely than ever, checking for signs that he'd noticed. She thought not. He was followed, everywhere, by the lords loyal to him, who echoed his will in every situation, and to her relief it was them that drew his eyes; the ever clamorous voices of his followers deafened him to the problems in his land. A deaf king was a safer one for both Old Narnia and for good Telmarines.

That also meant that Caspian could be loved as much as the people were willing, and Miraz would see no threat, not while he surrounded himself with those who pretended to love him.

So the nurse started to take Caspian out of his nursery more, in the mornings, when his uncle (and, rarely, his aunt) would never call for him. She took him to the kitchen, and he made even Leisa smile as he importantly stirred the bowl of pudding for the king's table that afternoon. She took him back to the stables, and taught him to braid straw into patterned ropes, and they decorated the stablehands' tools. She walked him through the maids' corridors and he asked them questions about laundry and torch-holders, as he saw them polishing them. More quietly and more slowly than the fear-making rumors, the bright curiosity and happy smile of the child-king made its way through the castle.

Well, a part of the castle. But not the halls where the lords walked, so absorbed in their own world they perhaps wouldn't notice a child. Not the rooms where the ladies sat, entertaining each other or sometimes comforting each other. And not the Great Hall, where the power of Narnia dwelled in the hands of a murderer. And the nurse did not know how to change such a thing, for one could not enter the world of the nobility without invitation or blood, and Caspian was too young to be noticed for his blood-rights yet.

But then the prince's seventh birthday came, and the castle in its entirety celebrated with a picnic at high noon. The noble guests flowed out into the castle courtyard, paying their respects at the high table to the circlet-crowned, smiling prince, the nodding Lord Protector, and his put-upon Lady, fanning herself in the heat with a feathered purple fan. The nurse, stationed unobtrusively in a grove of trees, in case Caspian should want her, observed her prince commanding the attention of those around him with pride. He asked questions about places the nobles came from, ("Lord Dacre, of the Northern River, your highness." "The Northern River? Where is that? In the north, farther than Beaversdam? Is it as far as the border? Is the river big?"), observed the oddities of their dress, ("Why is your hat so small? How does it stay on? Can I see?"), and spoke to any who would listen. He seemed to be giving the Lady Prunaprismia a headache.

But most welcomed his attentions, and his uncle, seated between the prince and his aunt, took it in tolerable humor, as long as he had good food and the attention of his followers.

Until Lord Erimon came to give his greetings. He came to the High Table, as the others had, but did not give the customary deference to the Lord Protector, or his lady. All his attention was on the prince.

"Greetings, young prince. I am Lord Erimon, and I came to offer you my fealty on this, the celebration of your birth." The man knelt on one knee on the grass, one hand wrapped around the silver sword hilt above his waist. "As the son of King Caspian the Ninth, and the future king of Narnia, I humbly ask that you accept my loyalty, my strength of arms, and the strength of my lands."

All the attendants of the celebration had turned as he knelt, and in the silence of their curiosity, his gift to the young prince travelled to all their ears. Many of their eyes turned to Prince Caspian.

"Thank you," he said, face and voice serious. "Your loyalty and strength are good things, and I am happy you gave them to me."

A small laugh—of relief?—came from the surrounding courtiers, and they turned back to their conversations. But the nurse, watching from her bench, clenched her hands till her long fingers were white. The Lord Protector's face was thunderous. Even though the Lord Erimon rose and bowed to him and his lady, his nod in return was as cold as the White Witch's winter. He did not like what had been done.

Throughout the feast, other lords came and offered their fealty to Caspian, perhaps a dozen in all, and he accepted it with the same earnest face. And each time his uncle grew a little more cold, more angry, and more curt, till even his wife was leaning away from him.

But—there were enough, the nurse thought. Enough that the Lord Protector knew he could not kill his nephew or take the throne without a rebellion, enough if it came to open warfare. Oh, Aslan, there were enough to maybe stay Miraz's hand.

She had asked Aslan to send someone to help, and He had answered with several someones. For all Miraz's anger, this gave her hope, hope enough to release her clenched hands and sit back, sighing.

The party was a success in that hope only, for the Lord Protector's mood was noticed, and the party ended as quickly as proprietary allowed. The prince opened his presents, the court ate a handful of nuts arranged in a giant seven, and the Lord Protector made a speech of joy at the prince's health in a tone that was coldly polite. The guests left, bowing to their rulers one last time. The Lord Protector and his Lady strode away without giving their seven-year-old nephew a second glance. The nurse rose from her bench, groaning as she heaved herself up, and walked to the joy of her life, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Come, my prince," she said softly. He reached up and took her hand and they walked back to his nursery, both quiet. They sat once they were inside with the door shut, content in the silence and the view of the sunset outside the window.

"I was proud of you today." Caspian looked at the nurse quickly, hope replacing the tired sadness she'd seen on his face. "You took Lord Erimon's gift very well, and the ones that followed.

"I thought about how King Peter would respond," the little boy said. "Nurse, is this what happens to kings?"

"Yes, my prince. A king gives himself to his people, and his people are asked to for their loyalty and their obedience. Sometimes it is given, my prince, sometimes it is earned, and sometimes it must be won. There is a story, my prince, of a time King Peter himself had to win the loyalty of his subjects…

OOOOO

There's a story I never heard, my prince, about why humans are referred to as "Sons of Adam." Most Narnian men came from King Frank; perhaps his father was Adam. But I do know why dwarves are referred to as "Sons of Earth." When Aslan made them their bones were formed out of rock, their flesh from the brown dirt, their beards from the moss that grows in the deepest caves, and their hearts were made of the metals that once lived inside the earth. They were made short so they could plant their sturdy feet on the earth, and once they have made up their minds they are as stubborn as a stone fastened to a mountain; only Aslan Himself can move it. They are loyal, fiercely loyal, my prince, once they give their loyalty; but like the earth, they do not give gifts easily, but it must be worked for, with toil and effort and stubbornness of one's own, before it ever yields.

When the four came to their thrones through the power of Aslan, the animals of Narnia, and the Narnian trees and rivers, flocked to their thrones, thanking Aslan with sheer joy that such gifts in the forms of Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve had been given to Narnia. But the dwarves were a different story.

Long, long they had held out against the witch, the stubbornness of their natures causing them to withdraw from this cruel change. But as her reign went on and on, she wore away at even their rocky natures, and some of the dwarves joined her cause. She needed them, the Sons of Earth, and needed them willing, for they made armor and blades and even, it is said, the wand she held in her hand. They crafted it with her at their forge, pouring her magic into it; and ever after a dwarf was appointed as her closest servant as a reward. Poor reward-to drive a queen in the midst of the cold, to council a witch who would not listen, and to do the bidding that could turn even hot metal hearts brittle and cold. But some of the dwarves saw that as power. _They_ had not had to fear during her reign. They grumbled at the loss of what put them above their neighbors, and at the rulers who caused it, ignoring the cost of following such a queen.

And so it was that most of the dwarves withdrew for the first few years of the Golden Age, leaving their neighbors and rulers alone, and requiring they be left alone in turn. And for the first few years, busy with the cares of learning to rule and of learning Narnia, the four had no time to address this. And Aslan gave Narnia peace for those first few years, and the few dwarves who came and served and watched the rulers kept quiet about their kin.

But war came, and the Kings, growing bigger as human boys do—as you yourself do, my prince! For are you not taller and bigger than you were on your sixth birthday? And the armor that Aslan had given them no longer fit. The dwarves in the castle worked through three nights, to ready armor for the kings. The enemy was now six days away (the bird scouts twittered), and the dwarves had no time to make more armor for the new soldiers the Narnian army had trained since the days of the witch. The four, looking at each other in puzzlement, went to their tutors, asking what had happened in older days to arm the Narnian army. They were told of the many forges of the dwarves, and the skill, and the stubborn nature that had bid them retreat. And Queen Susan went to the dwarves in the castle, and asked so gently and graciously of their kin, and how to win the friendship of the dwarves, that their stubborn natures yielded to her entreaties, and they told her of the dwarven forge not far from the Lantern Waste, the Forge of the Sunken Valley, used by Red and Black Dwarves both. It was large enough to host a hundred smiths at work, and a place where the chief of the largest dwarf clan lived, the dwarf Gruffkiln. The four, in the manner of siblings, debated who was to go—Lucy, to win their hearts, Susan, to persuade their minds, Edmund, to catch their stubborn natures and match them wit for wit?

But the High King Peter listened to each debate, and at the end told them it was a matter of authority, and as Aslan had given him the highest rank, he would go and require of the dwarves their loyalty to Narnia, and their obedience to its crown. And his siblings bowed, perhaps a little unwillingly, but obeyed nonetheless. They met him the next morning before dawn in the courtyard, as he mounted a normal horse, and the Queen Susan silently handed up a cloak she had spent the night sewing, that would keep him very warm, and King Edmund bid him be careful for he was so accident-prone, a teasing smile on his face but his hand clenched around his sword, and Queen Lucy gave his leg one last hug and told him she'd talk with Aslan about him every night. And with the blessing of his siblings, High King Peter left, a guard of a cheetah and dog on both sides, for he intended to travel fast, and reach the dwarves before dark. The dwarves of Cair Paravel had sworn the forge would have armor enough to clad each new soldier, and King Peter carried gold as payment.

They never made it to the forge that night. The road was well-paved for a few hours after the sun came up, but soon after that they entered the forest, and the road grew smaller, with larger holes, until it became a path that only the Narnian deer would use. It took all the two guards' skill with their noses to keep the king on track. So absorbed were they in the scents, they failed to hear the sounds.

The tiny clinks of chain-mail links as a soldier shifted. The squeak of a sword withdrawn from a sheath. The crack of a twig underfoot. Or the sound of leaves being rubbed on leather, to smother the scent of the soldiers. And so it was that the troop of fifteen soldiers, ogres and werewolves and such, jumped from ambush and immediately slew the dog, Thunder.

Come here, my prince. I am sorry, my prince, so sorry, but this is a part of being a king as well, that soldiers and Narnians and even friends die for you; loyal and obedient even to death for you. It is something that is not easy for any good king. King Peter looked to his right just in time to see the dog fall beneath the claws of a wolf, and drew his sword and stabbed him, yelling Thunder's name. The cheetah, snarling at those who would attack his king, jumped four meters forward with claws extended, knocking down two soldiers in front of the king's horse; he had to get the king away! With all the speed he possessed, he jumped back, and raked his claws across the horse's rear. One of the most terrible noises in the world, a horse's scream, echoed through the forest, and the horse bolted through the opening the cheetah had made. Out of control, the horse ran and ran, through the bushes and trees, till at last King Peter, with stern words and gentle hands, calmed it. Panting, he looked around. The forest was peaceful, green, and sunny, and the sounds of battle had faded. He shifted in his saddle—his shield arm had hit a branch, and he moved it to check its range of motion. He also turned, and checked his horse's flank; the scratches were shallow, and had stopped bleeding. Satisfied, and yet grim, he placed his bloodied sword flat on his leg, ready and at rest, and slowly urged his panting horse forward, praying to Aslan it was the right direction.

Hush, my prince, don't you know he is Aslan's own? And Aslan leads his own. King Peter, having been taught to find his way by Narnian stars or by signs in a forest, remembered the forge was to the West of where he'd been, and moved forward, blind to path, and continued praying—for himself, for his kingdom, for the cheetah Sprint he could no longer find.

Twice more, the king was attacked, and twice more he cut and stabbed and hacked with his sword before the groups of one satyr and three imps could bring others down on him. The imps marked his leg, with a long, deep scratch, and the satyr had bent his bruised arm until he screamed. But in Aslan's name he kept moving, till, at last, he found a track. It was made for little men, not for men on horseback, and though his leg ached and the blood trickled down, like this, as he walked, the king dismounted and led his horse in hope of finding shelter.

The path became rockier, the trees shrinking to shrubs as the rocks rose in piles to form hills, and it grew darker and colder. The king stumbled over pebbles, his hand knocking against the horse's neck at times, but his sword stayed out, straight, away from his body, and his heart was still fixed on Aslan. With such a hope as that, he felt no fear when a voice from the darkness in front of him growled: "Who goes?"

"I, King Peter of Narnia, who welcomes all of Aslan's friends and fears none of Aslan's enemies. If you be His enemy, sword out; if you be His friend, I charge you in His name to reveal yourself!" His sword flashed into a ready position before him.

"That's a long-winded way of declaring yourself," the voice grumbled. King Peter's hand loosened on his sword a little. "You're not a fell beast?" it added, suspicion in its tone once again.

"I am a Son of Adam," King Peter replied quietly. He sheathed his sword as the voice continued muttering. "I bid you, good sir, declare yourself, and tell me where I am?"

"Where I am, he says. The King of Narnia's blundered into the largest dwarf settlement, and didn't even know it. Oh, aye, we've got some real bright ones on the throne these days. But you don't sound like you're meant to mischief." A slide on a lantern was pushed back, at waist height for the king (above your head, my prince), and the lit candle inside gave a steady light through the dwarf-made metal, cut in the intricate shapes of a map of the surrounding area. The light fell on a red-bearded dwarf, who squinted up at the King through the light. "You stay there, and I'll go let the chief know you've arrived." The dwarf turned and vanished into the darkness further down the path, and the king leaned against his horse and closed his eyes. He was probably thanking Aslan, my prince, but also resting. He had walked a long way, longer than our walks to the river, and his leg hurt. He'd breathe, in and out, like this, and his hands came to rest at his sides. But he did not let go of his sword. And the next moment, he needed it.

Growls, low, and made from hate, curled through the darkness behind him, and he spun, letting go of his reins, planting his feet, and searching the darkness. The growls came, again, from above him! His arm hurt; no shield. He raised his sword defensively, trying to see through the darkness. He caught the flash of dark fur just in time; like the first time he'd fought, he felt the hot panting breathe and felt a tangle of arms and legs, tugging and pulling at him, and he slashed and thrusted with all his might. Panting, he looked down, at the end of his sword. A werewolf lay dead at his feet.

He shuddered. Looking up, he listened; all was quiet. No breaths, no growls, no footsteps. He wiped his sword on his pants, put it away, and sought to calm his horse, who had backed into the canyon wall and was trembling. He was still stroking her when he heard more footsteps, and whirled, sword out, to see three dwarves approaching the lantern.

They stopped the instant they saw the dead werewolf, and the red-haired dwarf in front flicked his black eyes from the wolf to the boy and back again, stroking his wild red beard. "Better come inside," he grunted, turned, and left. The other two dwarves looked at each other, said nothing, and turned and followed him, one grabbing the lantern as he went. King Peter, glad for any shelter with the witch's minions about, gathered his horse's reins and followed.

The path wove through the hills which turned into mountains, the further and deeper the canyon went. The dwarves weren't communicative, and King Peter just followed the flickering light of the lantern, and their heavy, close-together footsteps. Finally the path seemed to end at a wall of solid rock, a wooden door about twice a dwarf's height in the middle of it. The dwarf with the lantern knocked, a special thump, thump, tap-tap-tap, like this. Silently, completely silently, the huge doors opened. Ah, dwarf craftsmanship, my prince. The creaking and groaning of our own doors are human; dwarves make better things. My own door once...well, that's a story for another time.

One of the other dwarves took the reins of his horse and led it away, leaving King Peter to go in. Inside-what was it like? Oh, dwarf homes are filled with the things they made, tables and chairs and brackets on the wall, most of them from wood, smoothed till you would run your finger over them for sheer pleasure, and made to show the beauty of the wood. For all their gruffness, dwarves are great lovers of beauty, and their homes often have flowers, cloth curtains, and this hall was no exception. But everything in it, my prince, was made of a size just for you. Yes, for you! For a seven-year-old boy is little smaller than a dwarf. And the two places the dwarves love best are the eating area, and the forge or carpenter's bench where they work. The great hall King Peter walked into was their dining hall, with the kitchen through an open archway at the far end, and tables for several hundred dwarves lined the room, with checkered tablecloths and exquisite vases of flowers decorating them.

The dwarf who'd ordered him to come inside was striding past the empty chairs (it was too late for supper), up to the table closest to the kitchen. He sat down with little ceremony (he wasn't much for courtly manners, this dwarf), and gestured like this, for King Peter to take the other chair. Once the King sat down (with a sigh of relief to be inside and safe), the dwarf frowned, studying him. Finally, he said, "You don't look like much of a king." King Peter, pulling himself together, opened his mouth to reply—probably to remind the dwarf that Aslan doesn't always pick kings for their looks or their age—but an echoing, scolding voice erupted from the kitchen archway.

"Bad enough, Gruffkiln, you leave your guest standing at the doorwatch post till dark! He's traveled far, he's tired, he's hungry, and you haven't the sense to offer him food before you start interrogating him! For shame!" Gruffkiln's eyes had started to roll before he'd turned to look at the old dwarf woman in the archway, one with hair even redder than his, braided in three long plaits that fell past her waist, but by the end he'd looked both awkward and grumpy.

"Would you like something to eat?" he bit out, rubbing his hand on a pocket and pulling out a pipe.

"Not inside!" the dwarf woman said, coming closer. "And you're not leaving your guest yet, don't even think it. I swear to Aslan I raised you better than this; my apologies, young-" she broke off, having turned from looking at her son to looking at Peter, and realising what he was.

"This, Mother, is a boy claiming to be High King Peter," Gruffkiln said, a hint of smugness in his tone that vanished as his mother turned back to look at him; his back straightened and he went back to polishing the outside of his pipe.

"Well, it's either King Peter or King Edmund, _she_ left no other humans in Narnia," she said finally. King Peter had risen from his chair when she entered the room, and at this point he bowed.

"Aslan's greetings to you, good cousin. I am Peter, High King of Narnia by the appointment of Aslan, coming to visit the Forge of the Sunken Valley. But on my way I have been attacked four times, and would ask you, good my cousins, have you been having problems with evil neighbors?"

The two, set somewhat aback by his courtly words in their authoritative tone, looked at each other. "Aye," Gruffkiln said at last, grumpy in tone, but his hand tightening along the stem of the pipe and worry in his eyes.

"Aye," his mother added, her hand falling on her son's shoulder. "Ever since we refused them weapons, they've been murderous to any dwarf they can catch. I sometimes think it's Aslan's justice, for siding with evil in the first place. It always comes back to bite the hand that clasps in friendship, as they say." She looked down at her son. "Gruffkiln was the first chief to tell them no in two hundred years," she added more quietly, a quiet pride in her tone.

"Much good it did," Gruffkiln growled. He shoved his chair back and stood to the fullness of his little height. "And what's Aslan's own gonna do about it, hey? You offering to help, or is it the dwarves are for the dwarves, and no one else?"

"Cair Paravel will soon be under siege," King Peter answered quietly, his eyes not moving from Gruffkiln's. For all of Gruffkiln's rudeness, he could see there was fear in his heart for his people, and King Peter knew what it was to have people that were _his_ , their lives in his hands to protect. "They cannot spare armed soldiers to come help; indeed, I came here to ask for armor to arm them. But I offer my help against this evil in Narnia, if you will work with me."

"For what price?" Gruffkiln growled, squinting suspiciously. His mother moved her hand, but then let it fall to her side.

"None," High King Peter declared firmly. "Narnia in all of its entirety is mine to protect, as well as I can. Good cousin, have you a map of the surrounding area? And knowledge of what enemies are about?"

Gruffkiln regarded him for a moment more before turning to his mother. "Get the council, and Bettersteel's map," he asked quietly. His mother frowned at him. "Yes, mother, I'll get him food," he added in a more exasperated tone; but he patted her shoulder when he moved by her towards the kitchen.

When the two dwarves were gone, King Peter sat back down in his chair. The council, a noisy group of arguing dwarves, Red and Black both, found him head down, praying to Aslan, minutes later, and they all went as silent as a mice in a hole near an owl. King Peter, roused by their noise, again stood to his feet. He must have looked so kingly, in that moment, straight and tall, eyes resting on them, hand on the hilt of his sword, towering over table and chairs in the middle of their hall. Gruffkiln walked in, plate in hand, a moment later.

"Sit down," he ordered gruffly. "We've got a king who might know a bit about our recent problem."

"You'd take help from _him_?" came a shout from the middle of the group, a black dwarf with a wrinkled, wizened face Peter could see from his taller height. "None of the four've yet to offer us what the Queen had!"

"The Witch's soldiers have closed off our trading routes and _killed four of our own_." Gruffkiln slammed the plate on the table so hard the table rocked and settled. "You remember Pogger's daughter, not yet seven winters old? We buried her not two weeks hence, Brickleturt, and if you've forgotten it I've not. It's no leader who'd chose friendship with a group that kills when it's not happy."

"So you'd take a chance with a stripling younger than your son instead?"

"I'd take the chance to listen to him, seeing as how he slew a werewolf on our doorstep with a not a scratch on him," Griffkiln retorted. "Give me that, Bettersteel," he added to the dwarf coming through the arch, a rolled up parchment in hand. He took it and spread it on the table in front of King Peter, King Peter pushing the plate of food aside to make room for the map between them. The council, hesitantly, came up behind him, staying on Gruffkiln's side of the table. King Peter looked over the map, noting the terrain as he'd been taught. Gruffkiln and another Black Dwarf pointed out the caves where they knew their unpleasant neighbors had been hiding, and how many. The council, who'd been muttering to each other, grew quieter when King Peter let them know the three imps and satyr were dead, and showed them his arm and leg. Gruffkiln, grumbling, sent for a healer while King Peter continued the council—for, my prince, a king must put the safety of his people first, even when he's hurting. And hungry.

"How many have you able to fight, and willing to give their lives?" King Peter asked, his eyes on Gruffkiln. "For I have already seen Narnian blood shed today, and those going to battle must know they may not return."

"Twouldn't be cowardice that kept them away; they'd be more likely to join the other side," the Black Dwarf who'd been helping Gruffkiln growled.

"We'd never fight against our own, Rister, twist your tongue to silence," said the black dwarf who'd shouted.

"Numbers," King Peter said firmly, before the argument could explode, never looking towards the two who'd been arguing.

"Perhaps sixty sturdy dwarves, with armor." Gruffkiln tilted his head back to look up at the king grudgingly. "And you?"

"And myself," King Peter agreed. "In fact, I had a thought of a using myself as bait."

Gruffkiln looked at him like this, my prince, as if he was weighing the king's honesty and bravery. "Eat," he said, shoving the plate at the king. "Or mother'll have my head. What's your idea?"

And so King Peter told them of his plan, to draw the evil forces into a place where the dwarves could ambush them. He argued that on his horse he could move faster than any dwarf could, and the former witch's soldiers were already seeking to kill him. The dwarves, after some suspicious arguing and asking why he'd risk himself for them, agreed. They knew the country down to every stone and tree (for dwarves know and love their homes like that, my prince) and showed him the paths that would let him keep ahead of the evil forces if he rode fast, and while they argued about better ways ("The High Pass would be the fastest if he had to get away, Rister." "Not on horseback! With all those stones? The horse'd trip and break its neck, and the King's as well, like as not.") King Peter took their small fork and ate bites of the dwarven food, and memorized the map. Gruffkiln's mother showed up when everything was settled, shooing dwarfs off to bed and taking King Peter to a small, wooden bed of his own. The King stopped, something in the mother's eyes telling him her heart was uneasy.

"Good mother, might I have your name?" he inquired, pausing in the door to the room she'd shown him.

"Grittlekir, my King." She gave a convincing smile. "I suppose I hadn't given it, Aslan's King being here drove it completely from my mind."

"Grittlekir, is there any gift, or information, I can offer in thanks for the hospitality of your home?" He made his tone as open as possible, my prince, for dwarves do not take help easily.

Grittlekir was quiet for several minutes—longer than you wait for lunch, my prince—but King Peter waited patiently. "Tomorrow is Gruffkiln's first battle," she said quietly, her eyes on the floor. "He only became chief recently, and it weren't easy, holding together a group of stubborn Sons of Earth split into two different sides. The recent deaths have made it better; we're not ones to forget those who shed the blood of our own, or save it. But that doesn't mean my son won't come home on a bier tomorrow." She raised her eyes to the king's. "During her winter, none here were killed, but that doesn't mean we didn't lose any. None who went to her palace ever came home, and that weren't right for a dwarf. We don't forget our own. I kept my Gruffkiln safe, during her winter, but now in Aslan's spring he's going out to battle and I might lose him all the same." Her hands twisted in her skirt, and Peter waited for her to finish. "It doesn't seem right," she said at last.

"Aslan has the right to call His own home, no matter the season. Their deaths can honor Him too" Peter's voice was quiet, but said, remembering the hound he'd lost, and the cheetah who might not be living. "But I promise you, mother, I will do my best to bring your son and the other Sons of Earth back; and we can both ask Aslan to do all that I can't." He met her eyes, and she smiled, a little more at ease.

"I'll be praying for you too, High King," she said, reaching up to her tiptoes to pat his cheek. "Now to bed, so you have the strength to fight tomorrow!" She turned and left, and King Peter obediently went to bed. (Somehow, my prince, even kings never outgrow mothers telling them to get sleep.)

The next morning the dwarves moved uneasily around King Peter as he ate breakfast with them, but he was kind when they spoke and quiet when they didn't, and they seemed to breathe easier. After breakfast the dwarves clad themselves in armor, and King Peter sparred with Rister when Rister finished among the first and walked up to the king, demanding practice. Soon the other dwarves came to watch, and King Peter found himself giving an unexpected lesson, trying his best with his shield arm bound up, to show them how to work with both sword and shield, and stay alive, and how to fight imps and how that is different from fighting werewolves or satyrs. They practiced all morning, the clang of sword on sword ringing through the courtyard, dwarf men and women practicing to stay alive. Lunch was announced, Grittleker ringing a large bell like the one in our courtyard, my prince, and then the King mounted his horse, asked for Aslan's blessing, and set out to pass the scouts the dwarves knew were posted along one of the paths.

He was probably a little scared, my prince; even kings are. But his hand was on his sword, and he was defending Narnia, and he was ready. He kept his head down, nodding like he was falling asleep, but listened with all his might, for ears can receive better warnings than sight in overgrown paths. So he heard the imps tiny, excited squeal, and the rustling of their footsteps racing over dead leaves like a tiny wind, and he breathed out, knowing the first part was done. Now, for Aslan's timing, that he reach the path not behind and not _too_ far ahead of whatever troops were sent after him; all of them, he hoped, so they could rid this part of Narnia of evil permanently.

Steady hoofbeat by hoofbeat, he forced himself not to speed up, to keep his head down, his ears—shhh, can you listen?

That's right, he heard nothing but normal noises, and prayed and prayed that Aslan would work out the timing. And just before he reached the turning for the pass to the ambush, his horse tensed under him, and broke into a run. Trusting it and its senses, he didn't slow it, but crouched low, holding tight, and looked back; there, chasing him, was a _hoard_ of angry monsters! He rounded a turn in the path with his horse, plunging back into the stony mountains, and then drew his sword, ready on his knee, and urged his horse faster, faster! Up one hill and down another, two more to go until the valley where the dwarves waited with bows and swords. He looked back; they were too far ahead. Breathing a deep breath, praying to Aslan for safety, he slowed his horse just a little, letting the evil group get closer, a bit closer, a bit closer, their yells of ugly triumph filling his ears as they thought his horse was tiring. Up, up, urging his horse on, the screams getting closer and louder, he bent over his horse, breathing hard; this was the last hill. There, they reached the top! Down, down now, the horse maybe breathing easier. But the werewolves, fastest of the evil soldiers, were close, and as the horse started down into the valley they reached with their claws and raked its flank in the same spot King Peter's cheetah had the day before, and the horse screamed again and bolted, throwing the king off of its back. He rolled, down, down, over stones that bumped and bruised and clanged on his armor (thank Aslan for dwarf steel), sword pressed to him so he wouldn't lose it or cut himself, his other hand seeking to keep himself going in the tilting world and out of the werewolves' claws. He rolled to a stop at the beginning of the valley, and rose to his feet. He turned; there were five werewolves.

Whizz. A sound near his ear, and a werewolf fell; the other four a second later, to the arrows of the archers; and the king had a moment to catch his breath, shoving the werewolf bodies aside so the arrows couldn't be seen, before the rest of the evil fell upon him.

And he fought, my prince, with all the fury of a lion of Aslan's choosing, sword moving so fast it looked like three swords, ducking and fighting and lunging, and all around him evil falling to the arrows of the archers. But he lost ground, and more ground, stepping further and further back, for even King Peter could not fight an army as a single sword. He was panting, too busy to breathe, tired, and still alive with the battle rush, when halfway through the valley there rang a shout. "THE DWARVES!", and suddenly Rister and Gruffkiln were right beside him, the other dwarves a step behind, and full battle was joined.

I will not tell you yet what a real battle is like, my prince, for you will find out yourself one day. But there is little time to think, only time to react, and King Peter found himself again and again directing the dwarves farther here, to hold this line, to not break! And little by little the evil fell, and a few dwarves with it, till there were finally more dwarves than evil, and it was then that King Peter saw the last large fighter, an ogre, bearing down with an evil leer at Gruffkiln, and he threw himself forward, sword up, to meet the ogre's club with a _thunk!_ of metal on wood. And the ogre grinned wider, and swung his club again, and Peter ducked under it and raised his sword and _pushed_ , and the ogre died right then. But when he died he fell forward, right onto King Peter! And King Peter did not have dwarvish muscles, and something in him cracked! And his sword was still in the ogre, and he couldn't use it, and not far away an imp saw and grinned, the same evil leer of the ogre, and came over and raised its claws over his neck!

But a roar, the deep roar of a great cat, echoed through the valley, and King Peter saw a flash of black spotted, yellow fur as a cheetah sprang from the rocks above the valley onto the imp, shredding it with his teeth, and placing all four paws around his king, still growling, daring anyone to come closer.

The battle ended very soon after, and the dwarves helped to roll the ogre off the king (it was very heavy, my prince), and they took the king and the other wounded home, and found the king's horse. And King Peter, arm and leg bound up from the day before and now his ribs, right here on your body, my prince, also bound up, fell asleep soon after, and missed the council of the dwarves, where a few, a very few, only three, argued that King Peter had brought this war on them and cost them the lives of seven dwarves, while the rest of the council heard again and again a dwarf stepping forward and saying that King Peter had saved them in battle, and they owed him a blood-debt. Even the three were quiet when Gruffkiln told them how King Peter had been hurt fighting the ogre that had come for him, and there, in the council, they agreed to give the four their loyalty, and to help them as the rulers of Narnia, and of the dwarves.

And so, when King Peter woke the next morning, and after Grittlekir had given him breakfast and thanked him for saving her son's life, the dwarf council came and promised him the armor that he needed, and forty dwarves to escort him back to Cair Paravel and fight in the coming war. ("Provided, of course, someone at that huge castle of yours teaches them how to fight against men," they said, and King Peter promised.) And from that day on, as the story spread, more and more of the dwarves came and swore their loyalty to the four, and though King Peter heard a great deal from his brother and sisters over his battle wounds, ("Really, Peter," they said, "Edmund going and getting himself hurt on every mission is enough, must you be like him too?"), he never regretted it, for with them he had won the fealty of some of Narnia's most loyal subjects.

OOOOO

The story had been longer than usual, and it was now past the prince's bedtime, and the nurse got up and went to get his bed things. "I didn't know dwarves were like that," the prince said from behind her. "They remind me of some of the knights I was scared of, but the ones Father used to like." She turned to him.

"They were good people, my prince, fiercely loyal. The whole of our world could have come and accused the four of being bad kings and queens, and the dwarves still would have spit on the floor and stood by them, till the last one. It's a gift to have loyalty like that, my prince."

The prince cocked his head to the side, thinking for a moment. "I already have it," he announced.

"Oh?" the nurse asked, thinking of Lord Erimon's pledge, and the others that followed it.

"Yes," the prince nodded. He tugged on the nurse's hand and she looked down at him. "You're like that." He smiled up at her. "If the whole of our world came and told me I was a bad king, you wouldn't leave," he said with certainty.

She sank to her knees beside him. "I wouldn't, my prince," she whispered. "I would always stay." He reached for a hug, and she held him back, her heart trembling. Oh Aslan, she'd never had courage, but this—the prince was right. She'd face the whole world for him, if he needed her too.

She put him quickly to bed, and went to her favorite window to pray. From the realisation that Aslan had sent people to save Caspian, to the realisation that Aslan had made her one of those people, in truth; she had much to think about.

And much to thank Him for.

But she had barely finished when she heard running footsteps behind her, and she turned to see the door open and Lady Belisar come spilling through, running across the room with a flash of a dark purple dress, and sink to her knees in front of the nurse, grabbing her waist and sobbing.

"What is it?" the nurse asked, trying to get down to her level, stroking her hair and trying to move her arms at the same time.

"All of them," the lady sobbed. "All of them, Melara, Hantel, even the children, all without them now. All of them!"

"All of _whom_?" the nurse asked, giving up on unwinding the arms and taking both hands to tilt Lady Belisar's face up to hers. "Ana, what is going on?" The eyes in front of her closed.

"The Lord Protector uncovered a plot of treason." It was a whisper, a whisper of death, of lost hope. "Lord Erimon, Melara's husband, is named as the ringleader; Arlian, Morth, a dozen others, have been taken and sentenced as well." She opened her eyes, and there was no hope in them. "All those who swore fealty to our prince today." She let go of the nurse's waist and reached up to take her hands. "He says it was a cover for the murder they were planning of the prince, but Erimon would _never_ plot against the throne."

"Hush, hush, little one," the nurse said hastily, covering up Ana's mouth. "I—is there any way to stop this, any proof, _anything?_ "

"They're to be executed tomorrow morning," Ana said, tears brimming and spilling over on her already wet cheeks. "There's nothing, no changing his mind; Morth tried, and that's why he's in prison with the rest." The nurse sank down beside her, numb. She'd thought Aslan had sent someone to save them, but this wasn't saving them, this was more people lost. Oh, Aslan, she'd just thanked Him for it; this tasted like the poison that King Caspian the Ninth must have tasted.

Lady Belisar was still weeping beside her, covering her face with her hands. "Narnia is lost," she wept quietly. "There'll be nothing left of it by the time Miraz is done."

The nurse looked at her dully. "It's not the first time Narnia's been lost," she said. She didn't have the courage to say more, but surely—if Aslan were true, then Narnia couldn't be lost. She numbly patted her hand. "Come, dry your tears. The last thing we need is for you to join the others in the cell. No more speaking against the Lord Protector, do you hear me? Silence is our only refuge now." She pulled the handkerchief out of her pocket and dried Ana's face. "Go get the other ladies, in twos and threes only, and hold on to each other through the night. Keep the children asleep." Ana, shoulders going back, a deep breath in, stood, shaking out her skirts. The nurse's heart ached. Ana had never been one to be a queen, anymore than the nurse had been born to be a warrior. But they were all that were left now. Aslan help them to do their best. She watched Ana walk through the door without looking back, going with a broken heart to others whose hearts were breaking, and then the nurse closed her eyes and fell back against the wall.

What more was she supposed to ask for?

To do?

Aslan—if this is what happened when she asked for help, should she even keep asking?

Silence was her only answer, but sometimes silence seemed to have its own words.

Will you hold your faith, even when I say no? it seemed to ask.

She remembered the moment she'd felt a warm wind, like breath, and her fear had unexpectedly ceased. That moment, she could cling to; that moment, she could believe was true.

That Aslan was true.

She turned and left, not sure where she was going, but walking through the castle corridors and asking for Aslan's help, for Old Narnia and the New One. She had people in both of those worlds now.

She ended up at the library and paused to lean against the wall, her feet aching and tired, though not as tired as her heart. She heard footsteps from inside, and a short, fat man with a long silver beard peered out from the opening door.

"Is anyone there?" he called, and she pushed herself away from the wall, not able to say anything yet. He regarded her for a moment—he was about her height, and as wrinkled as she was, she realised with a start. "Come in and have some tea." She blinked, and realised she'd been staring at him and saying nothing; maybe he'd realised she wasn't able to converse at the moment.

He brought her in to the library, a room filled with shelves on every wall, and each self packed to the brim with scrolls; only a few books on one side of the room. In the middle were several separated tables, covered in more scrolls and parchment, and one of them with dishes and tea things. The gentle hand guiding her arm—when had he done that—led her over and sat her down, letting her collect himself while he got the tea ready, pouring it from a little kettle from near the fire.

"I'm the prince's nurse," she said, when he didn't say anything. To her tired mind it seemed the best way to introduce herself; Caspian's last close friend and parent figure.

"And in need of nursing yourself," he said, with a grave voice and a merry twinkle in his eye. She stopped, looked at him, _really_ looked, to see if he was joking, and shoved her chair back, standing up, noting again the lack of height, the beard, the woodwork around the room-

"You're Old Narnia!" she blurted out, hands shaking; here, in the castle, he couldn't be, he was going to be killed!

"My good lady, do sit down and drink your tea." He set the kettle back down and helped her to pick up her chair. He put a cup into her hands, and she curled her fingers around it. It had been a very long time since someone had taken care of her; since she'd had no fear of anyone. Except Caspian.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. He glanced at the cup her hands, raising his eyebrows, and she obediently sipped it. It tasted like a brew her uncle had always made, Narnian berries and a few leaves strained through boiling water.

Like home, till the soldiers came.

The little man looked down at his own tea. "The Queen was kind enough to arrange for me to work here, as a scholar." His own face had a shadow on it. "She thought I might be a tutor to the prince someday." He looked back up, at the nurse, his merry eyes piercing. "And a friend, as you are now."

The nurse looked down at her own cup. This, then, was one of the ones the queen had put in place, too small for Miraz to notice, but still here. "Did the Queen know?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," he said briskly. "Now, my good lady, what upset you so much that you came stumbling to my doorway in the middle of the night?" She looked up, and seeing nothing but sympathy on his face, told him of her hopes in the garden that morning, how much Caspian _needed_ (she lowered her voice) friends, how she wasn't enough, and how so many of those friends would be dead, coming the next sunrise. How now the two of them were the only ones left, maybe the only ones left who remembered Old Narnia. She didn't say that wasn't enough; surely that would be obvious to him.

She was surprised, however, when he set down his cup and looked at her with a bit of sternness. "I believe you are mistaken. Come, come, if you did not know of me, how many others are there, throughout Narnia, or even in the castle, that you do not know of?" She just looked at him. The possible existence of others wasn't enough for hope on a night like this. "Is it Old Narnia you worry for, or Caspian's Narnia?" he asked in a barely-audible voice, eyes still shrewd.

"Both," she responded. "Both—we're losing both. There isn't hardly anything left of either of them now." The old man—Doctor Cornelius, he'd introduced himself as—pondered for a moment, then withdrew a coin from a pouch on his belt and flipped it over to her.

"Look at that for a moment, if you please." She looked, and caught her breath. It was a typical Narnian coin, the largest currency people carried. It was the picture of a Lion. She looked up; Doctor Corelius tossed another coin to her. It was a Tree, and the etching on the coin was a tree with limbs like arms, and a wooden face in the trunk.

It was Old Narnia, as much as the stories she told, etched into a new Calormen coin.

"If even our coins carry Old Narnia, surely you must realise it's written on what most Telmarines care the most for? Old Narnia or New, my lady, both are etched with the face of Aslan, and are His responsibility. Old Narnia is no more lost than that prince of yours, safely tucked away for a long, dark night." His eyes were serious for once, unrelenting as they watched her. "Do not give up hope, even in the darkest of nights."

She put a hand to her cheek; she was crying. She wiped away the tears, slid the coins back over to him, and nodded. "Thank you," she said, meaning it. He nodded, putting the two coins back in his belt, and straightened up the tea things.

"I think perhaps it is time for you to check on your prince," he said, holding out a hand to help her up once he was done. He walked her to the door, and before opening it turned to her. "I do not think it safe for us to be seen together, so I shall not escort you back to your room. My apologies. And I do not think it wise for you to come back here, either. But remember, I am here, and Aslan is always with you."

She nodded, and whispered, "Aslan go with you," before slipping out the door and back to her room, praying to Aslan to help her face tomorrow.

OOOOO

Response to Anonynousme: There are three more chapters of the nurse, only two with stories in them; then Caspian takes over. The unpleasant reference was to what the Lords of Beaversdam saved Leisa from; I made it as vague as possible, but didn't want it to upset anyone if they came across it unprepared. Apparently that worked! Thanks again for your suggestion; I hadn't thought of that detail, and I love incorporating details like that. Have a good weekend!


	14. Chapter 13 - Hope While Waiting

Chapter 13: Hope While Waiting

Disclaimer: I'm merely fingerpainting on the walls of Lewis's great cathedral, but I hope they'd make him smile, to see such things.  
And anything underlined is a direct quote from his masterpiece.

A/N: I made this a lot shorter because of the monster the last chapter was. Hopefully it's easier (and maybe better?) reading.

OOOOO

Tomorrow came, and the morrow after that, and again, and again. She left Doctor Cornelius alone. She offered sympathy to Lady Belisar and the others who started coming to her, after the lady's introduction. And she went back to the window in the tower, every day, to pray to Aslan.

And it made a difference. She could not have told even Aslan Himself why (perhaps He could have told her), but little by little, her fear fell away. There was darkness, but there wasn't despair.

And she grew stronger, and wiser, as she counselled the hurting. Caspian was still her joy—after the very hard evenings, waking up to the seven-year-old's energy was annoying, but seeing him smile made all the other burdens fall away. But in the evenings, after he was sleeping, when the bereaved sought her out at her window, she found herself bolder. If the queen had still been alive, she thought one night with a pang, she probably would have had the courage to ask her what she thought of Aslan. Not because the situation changed, but because the nurse trusted Aslan more.

And as the tomorrows continued to come, and nothing changed, she started to focus more on the future.

Narnia's future.

Caspian, who held all her hopes for that future. He had the incurable inquisitiveness of a child, and a love for the stories she told, and those combined taught him more about Narnia, Old Narnia, than any of the Caspians before him had known. She'd told him of the dwarves, the dryads, the naiads, and a little of the fauns, but she found her stories had mainly been of Narnia's Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve.

And though they made up most of Caspian's people now, if Old Narnia ever came back, there would be so many more to know.

So she started asking for books on the habits of creatures, and having Caspian tell her stories on picnics of what the animals they saw could do, if they could think and talk. Hobbling after his running steps, she had him talk to the birds that sang back, or talk to distant hares about what their holes were like. She played the part of the animals, pitching her voice to different tones, talking to him as if she were the creatures from her stories. She did her absolute best to open his eyes to what the world would be like, if Old Narnia returned.

And the more she dreamed about it, the more her old heart grew more certain of its coming. Please Aslan, in my lifetime, she prayed at the window at night. It made such a difference, to have that hope to hold on to.

Caspian loved the stories of the battles and adventures, but the more he "spoke" with the animals around him, the more he wanted to know about them, their stories. He started acting out each animal as the stories were told. Though it made it harder for him to fall asleep right away, it tied him to Narnia's other people all the more. His gentleness with all the animals around him warmed the nurse's heart. But it brought its own set of troubles too.

For the nurse still avoided the Lord Protector, and so she was not there, the morning Caspian was returning, escorted by one of the Lord Protector's perpetual hangers-on. The two, she was told later, were crossing the courtyard when the seven-year-old heard yips of pain coming from the shed where the dogs were kept. The prince, breaking away from the bored lord at a run, had been at the door lifting the latch before the grown-up caught on, and inside before he'd had time to say more than two words. Inside were some of the other noble boys, who'd found a puppy and were throwing it from boy to boy like a ball, laughing as it yipped and whimpered. Caspian, yelling with all the fury of a righteous seven-year-old, ran into the middle and caught the dog, bringing it to his chest with both arms, its little paws still kicking, and it whimpering as he yelled at the others to _stop, stop hurting it, it's a puppy!_ Some of the knights outside, including Lord Bern, had heard the shouts, and had come to rescue both prince and puppy when the other boys surrounded them and decided a little kid made an even better target. Lord Bern had ordered the boys out the door and ordered the hounds on them, chasing them all the way to the palace door and inside with yelps not unlike the puppy's as they ran. The Lord Bern had taken the puppy, with a kind word to the prince to see it healed and trained, and promising to bring the trained puppy back to see him some day, before delivering him back to the irate and scared lord who was supposed to escort him.

Not that Caspian used those words, but the nurse was fluent in his storytelling by now.

"Nurse?"

"Yes, my prince?" By now she did not even bother stopping her work unless he asked a serious question.

"Lord Bern rescued us, didn't he?"

"Yes, my prince. He is a good man." She smiled. One of the few left, but one whose common sense and kindness might keep him safe from any scheming usurper. Too many people liked him for the Lord Protector to kill him.

She hoped. She prayed.

"But he didn't _alone_."

"No?"

"The animals helped him."

"Animals are a great help to humans, my prince."

"Nurse?"

"Yes, my prince?"

"Did animals ever save the old kings and queens?"

The nurse set her work-stitching up a hole in the prince's clothing-aside, and looked out the window. It was nearly sunset anyway. "Put your toys away, my prince, and I will tell you a tale of Moonwood the Hare…"

OOOOO

Once, long ago, when Narnia was ruled from a different castle, there were Narnian animals with great gifts. One of them was Moonwood the Hare, who had such ears that he could sit by Cauldron Pool under the thunder of the great waterfall and hear what men spoke in whispers in Cair Paravel. Yes, my prince, and could even hear a shout at the Lone Islands, if he was really listening, from Narnia's shore. That is further than you can see! And if he were not a wise hare, it would have been most difficult for their majesties, for he could hear all their secrets, their arguments, their unkingly moments. But he was a wise hare, and believed that Aslan made the destinies of Narnians, and he need not interfere overmuch. Unless he was asked. But for all his gifts, and his patient, waiting mind, he had a hope in his heart, that someday, Aslan would let him use his gifts to do something great for Narnia.

There were a few times he had done a little for Narnia—hopping at a leisurely pace for two days, my prince, to tell their majesties that the marshwiggles believed that all four were deathly ill, and might need to be visited so they didn't create a fortress to stave off the oncoming civil war. Their majesties thanked him politely, between sneezes (achoo!), and went and made sure their dour subjects didn't withdraw from the rest of Narnia because of a common cold. The marshwiggles were most unhappy to hear their majesties were not dead, but as the majesties accidentally passed on their colds to the marshwiggle population soon enough the marshwiggles had enough misery to predict to keep themselves happy.

And another time he stopped their majesties from riding through a valley because he heard the creaking and rumbling of loose boulders at the top, but...that was common courtesy. He wanted to do something _big_. He wanted to save Narnia.

But he grew older, and a little wiser, but not much, because he'd had such a good start from hearing so much of the world. And nothing very exciting seemed to happen, nothing like the stories he heard parents telling their children so often of the defeat of the White Witch. Or the stories of King Peter and King Edmund fighting giants. Or Queen Lucy gathering a neighborhood of animals and routing a group of ogres that came to stomp on all the animals' homes. He could _hear_ all the fighting as it took place over Narnia, but it seemed he was never where it happened. Not until one day, after the four had been reigning for years, when Queen Susan was riding in his forest and stopped to talk to him, leaning down on the neck of her horse, though he could hear her clearly without that courtesy. But all of the sudden he stopped listening, and started listening to something else. It was panting breaths, like an animal had been running, and claws digging into the dirt on otherwise-silent footsteps, and the soft, soft sound of a tail swishing through the air.

It was the sounds of a dog, a large one, a talking dog as big as a your pony, and he could hear the drool dripping from its mouth. It was hungry. Moonwood, who had turned away from the Queen, turned back with one jump and screamed "Ride!" in the high voice of a terrified rabbit. And the queen, stooping lower, grabbed his ears and hauled him on her horse, and with firm hand and feet booted her horse into a run while turning him at the same time. And Moonwood, sitting on the horse in front of the queen, listened as hard as he could above the noise of the horse, and heard the footsteps of the hound coming closer, closer, and could hear the calm voice of the queen and her quick, quick, quick heartbeats, and he knew she was frightened. But she her voice and hands were calm, urging the horse, one hand on the rabbit to keep him from falling off. And he hated it.

He hated that she, one of the four who brought good sounds back to Narnia, would be so frightened. He hated that she might get hurt. And when the hound got closer, close enough to growl and snap at the horse's heels, he shook himself loose from the queen's hand and _jumped_ , prince, yes, just like that! And he landed on the hound's head, and quick as a rabbit, scratched out his eyes! And the hound, yelping with a deep voice, just, like that! Pawed at his eyes and head, and one raking claw hit the rabbit across his back, and made bloody rips, and the rabbit flew off. And the queen, despite having no weapon, had turned her horse around and was riding back, and she rode the horse over the hound, making it yelp more, and fall, body bruised, and she slide off her horse by the rabbit and picked him up once again, cradling him like this. She took him back to the castle, calling the guards to go find and arrest the hound, and took him to the healers. And poor Moonwood, quivering, lay under their hands as they sewed his white fur back together and wondered why he had ever wanted to be part of adventures.

It took him a long time to heal, my prince, for his skin grew back together slowly, for it had several places to heal. And the kings and queens invited, nay, insisted, he stay at the palace till he was better. And so he wandered, slowly, about the palace for several days. But he could hear everything in it louder than ever, my prince, and no matter how he folded his ears down the sounds still hurt him. So he went into the gardens, more and more, or the shore, by the blue sea. And staying there, he asked Aslan why he'd had to get hurt. And Aslan said nothing.

But he was wise. And he waited. And a week afterwards, as he wandered from the gardens to the shore, his ears unfolded, for he heard a new sound. He heard water slapping wood. Now, think of the beach, my prince. I know you do not like it, but think of it for a moment. Do trees grow there? No. So how could the water be hitting wood? He raised his ears all the way up, and heard other sounds; the wind hitting cloth, metal clinking against wood, and the small hum of many, many whispers. And all these sounds were coming from the sea.

And he sat back, listening harder, and waited. He had learned, my prince, that most secrets will tell themselves to someone who can wait. And he heard the voices of men, cold, cruel, voices, the snap of whips, and finally, a captain of a ship giving orders to soldiers in low voices, to row backwards and keep the ships out of sight until the cover of night. And then he gave orders to storm the castle of the four and kill those within. Moonwood, looking at the setting sun, felt his own heart start to race, for there was little time before the soldiers would arrive, and taking a deep breath, he raced, ignoring the way the rips in his back tore, up the hill, through the trees, through the gardens, and into the nearest guard, and yelled at them to warn the four, the soldiers, the generals, for there were soldiers posted offshore!

And the guards heard him, and one ran for a general, and he came—clop, clop, clop!—and within minutes sea gulls had been sent to find the ships, and came back with a report of three, and the general himself took Moonwood to the very tallest tower, where the kings and queens already were, and there they made their plans while Moonwood listened for any more information from what he could hear on the ships. And that night, before they set sail for land, mermen and mermaids swam beneath the ships and bore holes in them, and rescued the men in chains who almost drowned, and the soldiers who swam to shore were met by Narnian soldiers and arrested. And thus, my prince, Moonwood the Hare used his incredible hearing to save Narnia, with the help Aslan's timing that drove him to the shore for quiet.

OOOOO

She finished the tale, and Caspian jumped one more time to imitate the hero Moonwood, and then rose to put him to bed. He thanked her for the story with a hug around her neck, before nestling into his blankets with a toy horse clutched close. She pulled a blanket over them both.

Hope. He was so bright, so curious, so loving, her prince. She went back to her window and started to pray, asking for the fulfillment of her hopes. And as she prayed, she heard a single word.

 _Mine._

She paused, frowning for a moment. She heard it repeated, in a voice so low it could be a growl.

 _Mine_.

His? She paused, taking her old, sharp mind back over what she'd been saying.

 _Her_ hope. _Her_ dreams.

 _Her_ prince.

Only he wasn't, and there was something terrifying in that idea.

Aslan—wasn't he hers?

Aslan Himself had placed her in Caspian's life.

But—Aslan had never promised she would get to keep him.

She bowed her head. Caspian—wasn't hers. Hers to love, yes. Hers to serve.

Not hers to keep.

She went back to the nursery, and watched the sleeping, heavily-breathing prince for several long moments. _Aslan_ , she prayed, _keep him safe._

 _I will trust You with this too._

OOOOO

Response to Anonymousme: I have plans for the Lords of Beaversdam-and Lady Belisar, too, as it happens. I will admit Caspian's part of the story isn't as clear in my head yet. But the nurse's is planned out, with two more chapters after this one. I wanted her to be there through the time when Miraz is declared king, because that seems to be canonically accurate; but everyone else has to disappear first. I'm sorry if that stretches it out further than you wanted it to go. And yes, you're right about Leisa. Again, I just wanted to make it vague, but didn't want to leave anyone unprepared. Lion be with you as well.


	15. Chapter 14 - Adventures at Sea

Chapter 14: Adventures at Sea

Disclaimer: My name is not at the bottom of the title page of any Narnian book, nor on the copyright page for very good reason.

A/N: Please thank life-threatening weather conditions for cancelling my plans this evening, and my tax paperwork for making itself easy, for the time I had to write another chapter tonight. I hope it's enjoyable, because I wrote it while I was grumpy (bone-chilling cold and then paperwork does that to me), and I don't know how that affects my work.  
Thanks to the movie _Ever After_ , for the idea on how to open a door.  
Also, thanks to chocoo-muncher100, for a request for a Peter and Lucy story. My apologies, it's not quite what you asked for, but I'd already planned part of it, and had to modify it to fit your request. I hope you enjoy it anyway!  
Last (I promise), I debated on how much to make this angst, and how much to make it adventure, and decided that since it's a nurse telling it to a seven-year-old, it will land much more on the side of adventure than angst. My apologies to anyone who might have wanted it told differently.

OOOOO

The nurse never bothered to count how many lords were left that might stand with Caspian. Who might stop Miraz. She never bothered to count, but the ones who came to her for consolation did. The numbers varied—six, nine, thirteen, seven—but those around her held onto them like those lords were their last hope.

The nurse had Aslan.

But Miraz had been doing some counting of his own, and he came up with seven. And perhaps he was not as deafened by flattery as the nurse had thought, for he did not kill the seven lords who worried him. He was cleverer than that.

He sent them away. Not into exile, but into adventure ("Are you not Telmarines? Are you not men? Go and prove to the world that Telmarines conquer land and sea"). Not a death, but an absence from Narnia, leaving her shores and sailing the sea. For some (Lord Mavramorn and Lord Octesian) he made it a matter of duty, his followers whispering into their ears that the lands that belonged to Narnia needed to hear from the land that ruled them. For others (Lord Bern and Lord Rhoop) he exhorted them to set a good example, to show the rest of Narnia that there was nothing to fear from the sea he was sending them onto. And for the other three, he commanded and his followers cajoled, and in the end they boarded the ship with their friends.

The nurse and Caspian were there, the day they left. Miraz sent them off with a celebration, with flags and banners and crowds cheering the men and keeping away from the sea (the Telmarines still feared it), and Miraz with a secret wish to never see them again. Caspian, remembering when Lord Bern had saved him, had asked to come along and waved and waved from the dais for royalty, excitement on his face at the idea that Telmarines were going to go and have real adventures.

"They'll come back with stories, right nurse?" he asked, tugging on her sleeve. She glanced down—so did Miraz, from a few lengths away—and smiled what she hoped was a convincing smile.

"The brave often do, my prince," she'd said quietly. She looked back at the ship, and prayed for them once more—Aslan keep them—and then turned her attention back to the prince, who was climbing on his chair to stand and wave from a higher height. She didn't tell him that just as often, the brave do not make it home.

So she watched the prince, instead of the ship, and prayed to Aslan, instead of mourning the loss of the last of the strong. And later, when the ship was out of sight and the festival still celebrating, she took the prince out among his people, rejoicing once more in the way they loved their future king. Even if he did repeatedly run towards the sea they avoided. The nurse always brought him back into the crowds.

The next month, she took him to a different festival. And this time the people were no longer his.

Miraz, at the pleading of his followers, had made himself King.

Caspian had attended the ceremony, and seemed to find no sadness in seeing his father's crown on his uncle's head. Perhaps, the nurse hoped, he was too young to remember. Her heart ached, though, to know that Caspian's birthright sat on the head of a murderer. One who might continue to kill.

And Miraz had let the prince live, content to have his own blood succeed him on the throne, content that a seven-year-old with no loyal lords would be no threat.

Around them, all of Narnia suffered. Miraz, though crowned, was no Narnian king. He was a cruel and stern man, and there were times the nurse sat in the kitchen, watching Leisa, Willa, and the other maids cry just as much as the ladies of the court had. The nurse, speaking what comfort she could, remembered a pale, weary queen asking her to promise that Caspian would not grow up to be like his uncle. And, watching Caspian light up the kitchen and chase away all tears when he came with her, she thought to the dead queen, I am keeping my promise. He will not be such a king.

He will be Caspian, a true Narnian king. A king who loves Aslan. A king who loves Narnia, Old and New. A Telmarine, she dared to pray, who would lovingly rule the two parts of Narnia until they became one, and the word "Telmarine" would no longer exist except in the stories of history.

Your majesty, if you can see, I hope he brings joy to your face as well.

He was growing older, too, and though the maids and servants in the kitchen made him laugh often, outside it he became more serious. Much of what his uncle did was hidden from him, but even a child will feel a place becoming unhappy.

Perhaps because of that, he loved the stories of good triumphant even more.

"Nurse," he asked one evening, "tell me a story of the sea." She looked down at him from her story chair. She'd told him he could pick their story tonight, and had expected him to ask for King Peter fighting the giant Kiltskelkin, it was one of his favorites. But-the sea?

"Hmm, my prince, let me think. A story of the sea?" She looked down at him to double check, and he nodded. "Why the sea?"

"It's the place where adventures happen," he told her seriously. "It's where Lord Bern is, and where Aslan comes from." His eyes looked far away. "And it's so _blue_."

She laughed, casting her mind back to the festival and the way he'd constantly looked towards the sea. She never would have predicted it—his father hated the sea—but her own little Caspian was a seafarer.

"Well," she said, remembering a story that would serve, and would teach Caspian about the people he would on day rule, "perhaps tonight's tale shall be about the merpeople of Narnia, then. Do you know what mermen and mermaids are?"

OOOOO

In the sea itself, my prince, are people. They look different than us. From here, at the waist, all the way to their heads, they look like sons of Adam. The women usually have long hair that ripples in the sea's currents, and the men and women both have eyes that are wider and sharper than ours, to see in the dark and to see easily through the water. But from here down, all the way to where we have feet, they have a tail! A long, glittering, powerful tail, shaped like the fish's tail that you ate last week, and did not like. They can swim as fast as a ship can sail, though they tire after a time, like men do. And they care for the sea and everything in it, through where they swim, as the four cared for Narnia. But at Aslan's command they acknowledged the rule of the kings and queens. When the four were crowned, many of them swam near the castle of the four and sang. The music of the sea people! Oh, my prince, I have never heard it, but I have heard it is piercing, as wild as a storm, as rhythmic as the waves, as rippling as the currents of the sea, and as sweet as the touch of water as it cradles the swimmer. Yes, I want to hear it one day as well, too, my prince. But they haven't been heard since Caspian the First ruled.

It was the merpeople who taught the kings and queens to swim, to use their arms like this, and kick their feet as if they were a tail. It was the merpeople who brought the hungry Narnians fish one year, when an enemy had burned most of the plants for food to ash. And it was the merpeople who saved Narnia from those same enemies, one dark night. Even though the merpeople of Narnia do not fight, my prince. 'Tis said their kinfolk do, in the wild seas near the edge of the world, but the merfolk of Narnia were gentle lots, with no warriors among them.

Before the enemies came that year, my prince—coming from ships over the sea, a fleet of pirate ships—King Peter and Queen Lucy were walking on the shore. King Peter was almost a man at this point, older than the Narnia right of passage at eighteen years. Queen Lucy was watching for mermaids and mermen, eyes on the waves closest to them, and King Peter was watching Queen Lucy and smiling.

"Aslan has gifted thee, my sister, with a heart that wins all other hearts," he said to her when she paused, checking to see if a splash was a fish or a merperson. "Fear not that the merpeople stay away; they love thee too well to be absent when your feet walk their shores."

Yes, it's a funny way of talking, isn't it? But those were older times, and some of the best of Narnia's friends had taught the kings and queens to speak as their kings and queens did. Do you want to try it?

 _Thee_ , my prince, not _you_. But it is well done! I do not think you will speak like that when you are king—why? Because people don't, anymore. I'm glad you like it, though.

"I thank thee, Peter," Queen Lucy said, turning to him with a smile, "for thy fair words. But they do not seem to be true this day." She looked back out at the blue sea. "The waters are empty, even of our gentle cousins, and I know not why." A frown appeared on her face, like this. "I do not like it, my brother. Something warns my heart of this emptiness."

The High King was ever ready to listen to his siblings, and he too turned towards the sea, echoing his sister's frown and taking her hand. The pair of them stood, watching.

There was nothing.

"Come," he said at last, turning back in the direction of the castle, barely poking out beyond an enormous pile of rocks. "We will ask our cousins the gulls to fly over the sea and look for what causes us both unease." His sister turned with him as he drew her hand through his arm. But, my prince, they never made it to the castle. As they passed by the rocks, arm in arm, King Peter seeking to cheer his sister with a tale of a castle kitten who'd chased the roots of a dryad's tree, a yell filled the air, louder than the roars of a tiger, and out jumped one, two, four, six, too many to count! soldiers, swords drawn in their hands. In a blink King Peter had spun his sister around behind him, her back to his, and had drawn his sword. He kept the rocks to his left, the sea a few paces to his right, and his sister behind his back, guarding it. She had but a dagger, and he hoped to keep the enemies only in front of him. But if they did slip behind, he knew his sister would keep his back safe.

The enemy had paused at the sight of his sword, and he grimly counted them. Over twenty, his eyes noting the axes, swords, and spikes, rusted, stained. All sons of Adam, too; this had to be pirates. He had no more time to think before the group charged.

Sword up to block, roll off to thrust, sidestep with one hand behind to bring Lucy with him, knock the hilt on that head! Breathe, thurst, block! Move, move, always move, rocks to their side, watch the footing! Thrust, thrust, thrust, five down or moaning. Behind him he felt Lucy shift. Metal clanged. Some had slipped around behind, then. Cut, slash, cut, back them up, push himself and Lucy further towards the rocks! Breathe, remember to breathe, so hard to think, just react-

"Put down your sword!" The shout was ugly. He didn't listen, eyes still fixed on the three right in front of him; but they backed up, eyes still on him. He took a deep breath and looked over.

One of them had his sword right here, my prince, at Queen Lucy's throat. King Peter's eyes fell to her hands, clenched at her sides; her dagger was in a body right by the king's feet. She'd thrown it to save his life. His eyes went back to his sister's face. "What do you require of the sovereigns of Narnia?"

"A ransom," the pirate growled. His dark skin was Calormen, his eyes brown and pinched together, his mouth learning. "A ransom worth a king and a queen." He slid the sword up Queen Lucy's throat. Her eyes on King Peter's face didn't waver; she trusted her brother. "Now lower your sword."

 _Aslan_. A quick prayer went through King Peter's mind; for his sister; for what to do.

 _Wait_ , he told his people he heard later. _Wait._ And he lowered his sword, stabbing it upright in the ground and moving towards the pirate who had his sister. Before he reached her the pirates behind him grabbed his arms, kicked his knees, and shoved him down, tying his hands. One of them hit his head, and he didn't remember anything else for a long while.

When he woke up, he was laying on his side, in a dark place, with wood underneath him. What had woken him, though, was the touch of a hand on his wrists. He tensed.

"Peter?" Queen Lucy's voice was soft, quiet, hardly louder than a breath, and quite close to him.

"You are well, my sister?" he responded, also low.

"I am unharmed, my brother; merely bound. Your head?"

"It throbs, but no worse than sword practice the morn after a feast," he reassured her, tone wry. "Where have the vermin stored us?"

"Aboard their ship, anchored just around the curve of Cair's beach." Her hands were on his wrists again, and he felt the slender fingers running over the ropes, searching for the knots. "They left your sword for our royal brother and sister to find, and my dagger, along with their comrades' bodies." She'd found the knot, and was trying to pull it apart with her own hands tied behind her back. "Peter—they've put their hands on a merman." Her tone, for the first time, was not calm, but aggrieved. Peter himself flexed his wrists. Merpeople meant no harm, and so to harm one carried a heavy penalty in Narnian law. "They mean to force him to carry their demand back to Cair, and to bring the ransom here." Her fingers pulled harder on the knot, and the ropes dug into his wrist and tightened further.

"Easy, my sister," King Peter said softly, her anger steadying him. "All things in their time. Aslan give us freedom, and we in turn will share it with our subject." She tugged, a little more gently, but stopped when he covered her hands with his. "I swear to Aslan, my sister, that there we will attempt to right this wrong. But we must save ourselves first. Bring your mind to that, Valiant queen."

He heard her take a deep breath, and her fingers reached back to the ropes. It was not easy, my prince—can you try moving your fingers with your hands behind your back? But focused, the Valiant Queen seldom failed, and soon her brother's hands separated, and he rolled over and freed his sister, helping her to her feet. "Now, my fair lady, if you would join me in this adventure?" His tone was teasing, light. _Aslan, help us_ , he thought inside. He had no fear of his sister's courage failing, but he fought with his own fear. A king, my prince, has to trust Aslan not only with his life, but those he cares for. It is not an easy thing to be in the hands of scoundrels and to have a younger sibling there too. But his sister, who knew him well, heard his tone and knew how to cheer him.

"I must protest your taste, brother, if this be your choice of adventure," she said, lightly scolding. Her brother threw his head back and laughed quietly, fears falling away. Had not Aslan proved Lucy was His own?

"True, dear one! But I would not have our royal brother and sister say we stayed helpless, like a gilded fish in a truly dirty net." She laughed, quietly, picturing particularly King Edmund's teasing words. Her brother continued, "If you will take that side, I will take this, and let us see if there is yet a way to cut these pirates' plans and escape." He set his fingers to the wood around him, the hull of a ship, and felt it in the dark, scuffing his feet slowly across the floor, like this. He went slowly, quietly, and barely heard his sister doing the same on the other side. Before too long, he felt a change in the wood. Here, close your eyes, my prince. Come this way—eyes still shut! Feel here, forward, forward—yes, right there. You can feel it, the crack between wall and door. King Peter felt it too, and traced it to the handle. Trying it, he found it locked. But—it seemed to open inwards. He felt up the crack in the door—no, you are not tall enough, my prince, to do that—and over the top, and down the other side. There, my prince, look at the door. What is inside? Exactly; the wood through the joint that allows the door to swing open. "Lucy," he called in a low voice. She came over, feeling in the dark towards the sound of his voice as he called her a few more times, till she was beside him. They both stood and listened for a moment, but heard nothing in the galley outside. "I'm opening the door," he whispered. She stepped back, one step, and he reached and pulled the wood out of the two joints on the door, and pulled it away from the frame. Light, from windows, flooded their room, and she caught the other side of the door and together they quietly set it down.

Breathing a prayer of thanks to Aslan, that the galley was empty, they started to walk down it, on one side, avoiding the bags and sacks and litter all over the floor. It looked like the pirates slept on mats of whatever they threw together. Their prison had been about halfway down, on one side; stairs to the deck were on the far side, and noises-ugly noises, of yelling, grunting, and swearing, came down from the deck. King Peter looked at Queen Lucy, and gestured like this, as if he had a sword and were slashing down. She nodded, and the two of them started, very quietly, walking around the galley, picking up the various things and looking under them, looking for weapons. And what do you think they found?

No, not a sword. Both found daggers, rusted, pulling them from the sheathes with effort, and King Peter found an axe that broke in his hands, and he tossed it away, like this. But Queen Lucy, going farther away (though her brother kept an eye on her, don't worry), into the darker corner, away from the window. There were several barrels, one of food, rotting away, several that smelled strongly of alcohol, and one, in the back, that she couldn't see well. She pushed forward towards it, hoping it held weapons, but when she put her hand into it she heard a splash, and the liquid was cold. She drew her hand out, shaking it, and something grabbed her wrist.

She flinched, holding in a scream, one deep breath. Another. I will not scream, she thought. I will not scream. What held her was shaped like a hand, but not human, stronger, firmer, more slender. She heard more splashing, and a soft, melodic voice whispered, "Queen Lucy?"

She knew the ripples of that voice, had heard them in her glistening eastern sea. She stopped pulling away and grabbed the hand around hers. "Peter!" she hissed, and her brother instantly turned and hurried over; by the time he reached her she was tugging on the bucket, trying to pull it further into the light. Her brother grabbed the other barrels, easily lifting them out of they, easing them back down to make their landing silent. Once the path was cleared he joined his sister, pulling the barrel out into the light, and showing a merman, bruises on his arms and face, cramped in the wooden barrel. Queen Lucy ran her fingers over his face, gently testing the bruises, checking to see if anything was broken. Beside her, King Peter's fingers tightened on the edge of the barrel, like this around the arm of my chair. But he heard footsteps, approaching the door, and he grabbed his sister with one hand and pulled the barrel with the other, back into the shadows. Ears alert, Queen Lucy on the other side, both with their daggers drawn, they waited, breathing, until the footsteps retreated without coming down. They sheathed their daggers again, and turned back to the merman. King Peter glanced at the window.

"Good cousin," he whispered, putting his hand on the merman's shoulder. "I have an idea, but I also have a request. I ask, if we get you out, you swim to the beach, and let our royal sister or brother know where this ship is anchored." He paused; the merman met his eyes with the unblinking attention of his people, for, my prince, they do not have to blink underwater. "We will free you regardless, but for my royal sister's safety, I ask this favor."

"My word," the merman sang, clasping the king's hand on his shoulder. His eyes went back to the door, and he sank lower in the barrel, further underwater.

"Come," King Peter commanded, and Queen Lucy followed him as he pulled the barrel with him. "Daggers out," he said, putting the barrel beneath the glass-covered window. "You, good cousin, cover your face," and the merman ducked beneath the window. Taking a firm grip on the dagger, he reversed it, slamming it hilt first into the glass. The glass shattered, pouring out, and the noise from the deck became louder, more yelling. Without hesitating, the king picked up the merman beneath his arms and threw him out the round window, pushing him into the sea below, then grabbing his sister's hand and running, jumping, and stumbling into the opposite corner. Pirates in dirty clothes poured down stairs, cussing, looking for the sound. "Look!" one of them yelled, pointing to the open doorway without a door. The pirates ran into it, and the King and Queen slipped up the stairs to the deck, the king keeping a grasp on his sister, she guarding his side with glittering eyes looking for trouble. A pirate at the top; King Peter stabbed him, pushing him to the side; the queen cut the arm of the next that reached for them. Back to back once again, they cut and slashed and ducked their way to the mast, the tallest section of the ship. The pirates drew back, giving the two a moment to breathe, hatred in their eyes, but wary from the cuts and wounds the two had given their fellow sailors. King Peter looked around grimly, looking for a way out, a way to the side of the ship, if they could get there a moment ahead they might have time to jump. But his hope shattered as he heard more footsteps, and the pirates below deck came tumbling back out the door.

"Enough," came the sharp yell, and the Calormen pirate who had held a sword to Queen Lucy's neck pushed forward. His face was furious, but his eyes were still hard, calculating, holding King Peter's own. He wasn't likely to make a mistake. "You've made your attempt; we heard you wouldn't keep easily, King. I will allow that, once. But," and his eyes flicked to King Peter's right, "if you do not surrender, I will have tell my men to drive their swords through your sister's stomach. And if you try to escape again, your sister will pay with a wound for every door you go through."

King Peter felt his sister's arm, right beside his, firm and steady. _Aslan_ , he prayed, _send help_. He knew they couldn't surrender; the Calormen was watching his sister again, and the smile on his face was cruel. He drew his dagger more firmly into his hand, ready to throw it and take the captain out. That might give them their chance, to get to the edge; he paused to judge the best path, and got ready to take his sister's hand. He looked back at the captain.

"Come, King. Will you give us the ransom, or your lives?"

"We do give the corrupt nothing but Aslan's justice," said a strong voice from behind the pirates; they turned, and there, standing on the deck, was King Edmund, Narnian soldiers beside him and climbing up from ladders caught on the railings, dwarves, fauns, satyrs, and dryads, all soaking wet. King Edmund's hair ran into his eyes, but his sword was sharp and shining. "Step away from my royal siblings, or perish." The captain, hand clenching around his sword, looked back at King Peter and Queen Lucy, then forward again. King Edmund's eyes narrowed. "Make up your mind swiftly, blackguard, for your ship sinks beneath your feet."

"What?" he growled.

"You take one of the merpeople, and all you have belongs to them." King Edmund smiled, sharp as his sword. "They took the rocks from the pay and are smashing the bottom of your ship. Your life will be next. Now, release them!" And he stepped forward as the ship suddenly shuddered under them. The captain jumped and dropped his sword; the pirates followed. The dwarves and satyrs swept forward to bind them; the fauns and King Edmund pushed forward to where his siblings were, throwing his arms around Queen Lucy and leaning into King Peter, just like this, closing his eyes. After a moment he opened them again.

"Our Gentle sister has many things to say to you, _Magnificent_ one," he said, beginning to smile. "She is most distressed that you interrupted the delegation from our Southern border on the exporting of wool."

"We'll tell her we're sorry, good my brother," Queen Lucy spoke before King Peter could. "And our elder brother kept me safe from harm, so I may ask our sister to lighten the scolding that awaits us on our return, in gratitude for such care." She grinned up at both of them, and whatever response King Peter would have said was cut short when King Edmund suddenly straightened as the ship shuddered again and rushed to the side.

"Enough, good my cousins, enough! Spare the ship till it takes us to shore, I humbly ask of thee!" A piercing voice called up to him, and he sagged against the railing. His siblings came to join him; below was the merman they had saved, who smiled an saluted his king and queen one more time before disappearing. "He bore me through the waters himself," King Edmund said quietly. "Never have I seen the merfolk so warlike within our seas. The vermin truly caught themselves in their own traps when they managed to capture him." He looked up at his brother. "Brother mine, do not do this again. I do not relish speeding through the water at the speed of a crow's flight, wondering if I will find thee or our sister safe."

"Why is it my fault?" grumbled King Peter, trying to hide his smile. "Sister mine, defend me! The walk to the merfolk was thine idea!" His siblings laughed, and his sister responded with sparkling eyes,

"Nay, my brother, for did we not, when younger, say Narnia was my discovery, but the adventure in it thine? Thus all our adventures in our realm lay at your door!" Thus the three were laughing and remembering, and tivin thanks to Aslan for safety, when the beach of their castle came in sight, and their sister welcomed them home.

OOOOO

"Nurse?"

By now the nurse rarely had to stop to answer him; he knew the time after stories was for questions.

"You said—by the sea, long ago, that the brave come back with stories." She nodded, thinking back to when the seven lords left, and the prince continued, "Do they always come back?"

"No, my prince," she said softly. "Sometimes they go to Aslan's country, and tell their stories there."

"Like mother," the prince said. He bit his lip. "She went away, and she's telling her stories in Aslan's country now."

"Yes, my prince. I believe so."

"Can I go there?"

"Someday, my prince, but you must grow up first, and live stories of your own. You can tell your stories to her, when you reach Aslan's country, but only if you've lived them."

"Like you tell stories to me?"

"Like I tell stories to you. Come, my prince, it's time for bed." She tucked him in, and leaned over him and promised, "Tomorrow, my prince, I'll tell you the centaurs' stories."

OOOOO

Response to Anonymousme: I read many of Lady Alambiel's beginning works—Katerina and Murphy's Law, correct? They're quite amusing, I enjoyed them. Thanks for reviewing! Next chapter is the last from the nurse's perspective, unless there is an epilogue.


	16. Chapter 15 - Goodbye

Chapter 15: Goodbye

Disclaimer: I'm merely copying a master's work; none of what I create belongs to me.

A/N: The next chapter will begin part two, from Caspian's perspective, so for those who might wonder, no, this is not the end of the story.

OOOOO

The next morning it rained. Caspian, stuck indoors, asked the nurse if he could practice telling her stories, the ones he wanted to tell his mother. He told his favorites, the defeat of the White Witch, with a few alterations, like a dog biting her leg. The nurse corrected him a few times, but after he started giggling she realised he was doing it on purpose, and merely laughed with him. She told him he was a better adventurer than storyteller, and to make sure to take someone with him on his adventures who could tell them properly. He grinned and asked her, with a bow, if she would come with him when he went to go find Old Narnia, and she curtsied, bones creaking.

The door opened before she could respond. It was one of the king's attendants, frowning at the noisy laughter. "The rain has stopped," he said disapprovingly. "The king wishes to spend some time walking with his nephew."

"At once," the nurse said. She beckoned to Caspian, and quickly changed his clothing into more formal attire, kissed him on his forehead, and sent him to the attendant who was sitting on a chair, sulking at the wait. The door closed behind them, and Caspian was gone.

When it opened again, she was sitting on a chair, resting, the nursery clean and Caspian's nightclothes put away. She looked up, surprised that the king had only kept Caspian for such a short time. But it wasn't Caspian in the doorway.

It was two soldiers and a gentleman-in-waiting of the king's. She struggled to her feet, concerned. "Has something happened to the prince?" She looked from the lord's face to the guards, at the back; neither were soldiers she knew.

"His majesty requires your presence AT ONCE," was all she was told. She looked at their faces again; they were stern, and the lord's was furious.

This wasn't about Caspian. This was about her.

She walked to the door—what choice did she have, an old woman against three men? And followed the lord with stumbling steps, the two soldiers behind her. Through the hallway outside the nursery—goodbye, home—down the adjoining hallway, through the courtyard. The lord's pace was relentless. A crass to her left; she looked over, and one of the maids had dropped a basket, her hand over her mouth as she watched the nurse escorted away. The maid turned and ran, down the corridor, towards the kitchen. Goodbye, the nurse thought. They were through the courtyard, passing on the way to the great hall. Would the King—the usurper, he was no king, Caspian would be, one day, oh _please_ , Aslan—would he order her executed?

The great hall's large wooden door opened. Inside, at the far end on the two-step dais, was the king and his attendants. But the court was empty. Her hands were shaking; she hid them in her skirt. What would Miraz do? To her? To Caspian? _Please_ , _please, please, Aslan, don't let him destroy his nephew over this._

The lord bowed and stepped aside; the two soldiers moved up to flank her. Usurper Miraz was scowling, thunderous; he stood and strode two the edge of the dais, glaring down at her. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

She curtsied, wobbling as she came up; her legs weren't steady. "Your majesty?"

"You have committed HIGH TREASON against the reign of Telmarines in Narnia," he growled, his words icy and biting. "Explain yourself. Now."

"Treason, your majesty?" Perhaps, perhaps, there was a chance she could downplay this. It depended on how much he knew, of her promise to the queen, her story-telling, her raising Caspian to be unlike his uncle in every respect. Perhaps she could play off her loyalty to Caspian to downplay his suspicions—maybe? "I swear, your majesty, I've never done anything to hurt the prince, nor make him unfit for the throne; he's prince, that he is, and I always knew it, your majesty. I, I haven't committed any treason!" She let her fear make her voice shake, and shrank back towards her guards. She was afraid, so afraid, but he'd fear her less if she was. And if she made herself ignorant.

"Stop babbling!" Not quite shouting, but still angry. "Your cursed babbling is what led to this! You've been telling the prince stories of our enemies, of what our glorious ancestors conquered, of the remnants of demons and ghosts that haunt the darkest corners of our land! You told him fairy tales about adventures that never happened! _You made him less of a Telmarine_."

Oh, Aslan, no. Don't let him take this out on his nephew. "Stories, your majesty?" Her voice cracked; not Caspian, please, not Caspian. "Sure, I told him stories, ones I heard in my own cradle. I never meant harm, your majesty; I told him adventures that would make him brave and strong, ones I thought would make him a good Telmarine King." And a good Narnian king as well, she added silently. Please, Aslan, let him be a king. Let him be _Your_ king. "I never meant no harm. I thought, boys like adventures, and he loved hearing stories. Your pardon, your majesty, I just told him the ones I knew, ones I thought boys who liked adventures might like. I weren't no scholar of history, I just knew the stories."

He was still frowning, but his voice was less accusatory. "Those stories are forbidden," he informed her gruffly. "They are from a Narnia that doesn't exist. That will never exist." He was still frowning at her, but it had a little bit of thoughtfulness, and a little less ice and thunder. "Where did you hear them?"

My uncle, she thought but couldn't say. "Oh, they were villager stories, where I was from, your majesty; told, they were, on dark nights when we needed something but the fire to warm us. We took turns, those nights, with the fire shinin' and the dark around us, and-"

"Be quiet." He nodded to the soldiers, and they gripped her arms. She stopped, frightened. He'd made up his mind. What would happen to her?

To Caspian?

"It's time the prince was given a real education, not the stories of some superstitious, backland old woman." She breathed out; he still referred to Caspian as the prince. "You are dismissed. Leave the palace, and do not come back. You, Glozelle, arrange for a tutor for the prince who will give him a true king's education." The soldiers turned her and walked her out, down the length of the great hall, as the gentlemen-in-waiting started to move around their king, the situation resolved. Just before she left she heard Lord Glozelle saying,

"I believe there is already someone qualified in the palace, your majesty. I shall see to it at once." The the doors closed, and they were going back down the corridor, back through the halls, firm grips on either arm hurrying her along. Through the empty courtyard, through the palace gates, across the bridge over the moat. The soldiers didn't shove her, merely released her arms on the other side, turned, and went back below the portcullis. She turned, watching them, then looked up at the castle.

She was alive.

She was still alive.

The thought sunk into her brain, waking it back up. Just that morning she and Caspian had been telling stories, planning adventures. Now—

But she was alive.

He was still prince.

Aslan was still true.

Aslan, what would happen to the story now?

He didn't answer.

She staggered over to a nearby tree and sank down against it, resting, her hands still shaking. She pulled up her knees, rested her head on them, and breathed.

This was it. Her worst fears had come true, King Miraz had found her out, and,

This was it? She'd lost Caspian. But he was still prince, and she was still alive, and if he was king someday, maybe she could come back. That would be her next goal, she realised. To find a place to live—Aslan, where?—and hold on till someday, maybe years in the future, he became Narnia's king. And she'd come to his coronation, and see if she could tell if he still loved Old Narnia, and if he did, she'd ask to see him, a few weeks after; wait till he gave audiences. But she wanted to see her prince become king.

She lifted her head from her skirts, and realised she was crying. Oh Aslan, she thought, drying her cheeks, I'm a mess. Still just outside the castle gates. Where was she to go now? She got to her feet, leaning heavily on the tree, and looked down the road. It only went one direction away from the castle, so at least she knew where to go for now.

Her heart ached as she realised that Caspian would have called this an adventure, and would have laughed to be leaving the castle to go find another home, at least for a while.

Caspian, I miss you and your laughter.

But night would be coming, and it would be cold. She shook out her skirts, lifted her chin, sent a quick prayer to Aslan for guidance, and stepped onto the road.

"Wait!"

It was a call from the castle courtyard, combined with the sound of hurried footsteps. She waited; a maid appeared in the castle courtyard. She squinted; it was Leisa, and she was still running, a brown pack with straps on it in her hands. She ran, under the portcullis, over the bridge, and came right up to the nurse, panting.

"Here," she said, shoving the pack into the nurse's hands. "It's only what we could throw together, it's not much, but it'll help. Willa says to take a left when the castle road branches off, but you know she's a birdhead, so I don't know if you want to listen. But it's a direction, so maybe. We didn't think you had a place to go, you never leave the castle on holidays. And we'll take care of Caspian, best we can, I promise." She paused, looking at the nurse's tear-stained face, then lunged forward and hugged her. The nurse, surprised, hesitated a moment, then hugged back. "You take care of yourself, you hear?" Leisa whispered softly. Her arms were as firm as her personality, reassuring, stubborn. "I don't know why He let you get sent away, or why Miraz is king and Caspian's not, but all things in their time, I'm learning. He's got something else for you to do, I know it, so you go and do it, and you take care of yourself. Aslan'll take care of us here." The nurse stiffened, but Leisa didn't let go. "I'll miss you, you made that golden-haired child as joyful as sunshine, and Aslan knows we needed it." She let the nurse go, and stepped back. "There's others that'll miss you too, you know. The ladies that'll have no older one to go to now, and Caspian himself. You know he'll miss you." She reached into her pocket and handed the nurse a white handkerchief, embroidered with "L.P."; the nurse realised she was crying again. "Now, get off with you, there's no help to be had just staying here," Leisa said, her tone firming up again. She turned the nurse around, squeezing her shoulder one more time. "Go on, go! And Aslan go with you," she added the last in a whisper.

And the nurse turned and went. She went, through the rest of the morning, sun getting higher and hotter. She stopped for lunch, walking with slow footsteps to the side of the road to sit under another tree. (Caspian would have tried to describe the dryad in it, she thought.) She opened the pack and there, on top, was a note, in a curling, well-trained hand that wrote in a beautiful script, "I will keep my promise to the queen." She stared at it for a moment, making it out. The promise to the queen? Who-

The queen, standing on the castle tower, weak and tired and beautiful, telling her of a "man-in-waiting who begins his service now, a tutor currently in the castle's library, for when my son must begin learning, and a keeper of the horses who is gaining trust, for when the prince begins to ride and must be accompanied." She remembered a half-dwarf scholar she met in the library, and the elegant script on the scrolls she'd seen there. And she remembered Lord Glozelle saying that the tutor was already in the castle.

Oh, Caspian. It's the next chapter of your story. She thought back to the twinkling, piercing eyes, and hoped he liked his new tutor.

A tutor who would continue to teach him the truth of Narnia. She sat there, closing her eyes, and thanking Aslan for putting someone like that in place.

She ate her lunch—bread and vegetables that wouldn't bruise easily, and a water bottle—and walked again, in her slow, hobbling pace. She took the left branch of the road, not long after her lunch, and walked for hours more, till the sun had gone low enough she knew sunset would be in an hour or two. The path turned, and just around the hill she saw a village, close by. The first house was not far, and she hobbled towards it, thinking to ask for shelter. But before she got there she heard crying, and she sighed, a tired sigh, but altered her steps to go towards it.

It was a child, a little girl about four years old.

With golden hair, ringlets that fell longer than Caspian's ever had, but the same color. The old nurse put down her back and crouched in front of the crying child.

"There, there," she said. "What's wrong, little one?" The girl didn't look up, but she stuck out a little arm, and cried harder, seeing the scrape that was on it. "Oh dear, that looks painful. Let's take care of it, shall we?" She reached back into her pack, and brought out the water bottle, pouring water over it and the top of her skirt (it was less dusty) to wipe away the blood and water. The girl, still crying, scrambled into her lap after she finished and held on to her neck. "There, there, little one," she soothed. It felt so good to hold a child after an afternoon alone. She looked at the house; a part of her longed to go and find a place to collapse, but the child on her lap was still crying. She sighed, and shifted the little one so her ears were no longer buried in her shirt. "Listen, little one, would you like to hear a story?" The head nodded, and she rubbed a hand up and down her back. "Once upon a time, there were animals in Narnia that could talk. Among them was a cat, a cat who was always, always curious…"

She stayed there, the child gradually calming, for another hour, her back aching, her voice drying out, but the child content, and her heart easing a little with it. She missed Caspian, with all her heart. But it was good not to be alone. Sunset came, the sky turning all kinds of colors, and she told another story about the first sunset in Narnia, and the animals who stared in wonder at the colors of the sky. Just before the sun disappeared, a woman appeared in the doorway of the house.

"Alissel!" she called, clear voice ringing. "Alissel, where are you?" She looked around, and started on seeing the nurse slowly climbing to her feet, the child hopping off her lap and running to the woman. "Alissel, is this where you've been?" she asked. Behind her, four other children clustered and stared with curious faces as the old woman creaking towards their door.

"Beg your pardon," the nurse said. She cleared her throat again; her voice was _very_ rough. "I'm traveling, I'm not sure where yet. I was hoping I could ask for shelter for the night?"

The woman looked at her doubtfully. "We've not much." She looked over her shoulder at the sound of another door opening. "Let me ask my husband." She drew her children, including Alissel, into the house and closed the door. The nurse leaned against the wall, praying. She was glad Caspian wasn't here, that she didn't have to worry about him being out at night. Perhaps the people would let her stay in a stable. If they had one. If they didn't want her in the house. She opened her eyes when the door opened again.

"Come in," the woman invited, her tone more welcoming. "Alissel says you're a good woman, and she's a pretty good judge of character," she added, smiling as she glanced down at the child she was holding. "And this is Frank, Peter, Helen, and Alexdlain, our other children," she said, stepping back and revealing the rest. "And this is my husband, Tirian." The man, looking with a watchful eye that relaxed when he saw how old their visitor was, came forward and gently helped her to a chair at the table. They served the meal, a plain soup and a little bread, and all the children started eating. Helen was on one side of the nurse, Alissel on the other, and she found herself reaching over to serve them food, or wipe away a spill, before her mind caught up and she apologized. Her hosts said nothing, though she saw them glance at each other. That night they made her a bed with a single blanket on the sofa, and sat around the fire and asked her about her story. She told them about helping to serve the prince at the castle—telling Frank all about what it looked like at his enthusiastic questions, and trying to mediate between him and his brother, when they started interrupting each other—and how the king had decided she was not smart enough to teach the prince all he needed to know, so he had dismissed her. "And now," she added, "I'm off on an adventure of my own, going who knows where," adding the last as a mutter. The woman, Seriel, gathered her children and went to put them to bed, Tirian putting the chairs in the living room to rights before following her upstairs.

The next day the woman told the nurse it was baking day, and asked for her to stay and help in exchange for meals and a place to sleep that night as well. The nurse took the children—and five were so much more work than one, she found—and kept them doing their chores, then playing outside, while Seriel had the kitchen to herself. ("Peace and quiet for once, it's amazing.") That afternoon she brought them back, and cleaned up the kitchen while Seriel spent time with her kids. That evening they gathered around the fire again, and this time it was Tirian who told stories, in his rough, gravelly voice, his children gathered around him, of the animals he'd seen in the field that day. ("I even thought I glimpsed a bear, ROOOAAR!" as he jumped up and chased his children.) After the children were in bed, Seriel came back into the livingroom.

"We haven't much," she began, hesitantly, watching the nurse. "But—five is a bit much, for me to handle some days, and the children haven't anyone else but us. Would you like to stay? With us, for now."

The nurse paused. It wasn't the castle, the children weren't Caspian, her Caspian, but it was a home, and a good one. She silently thanked Aslan and nodded. Seriel nodded back, and went back to her bedroom, stopping in the doorway. "Thanks," she said quietly, then vanished.

The nurse smiled, and went to sleep. She woke the next morning to Alissel bouncing on her legs, impatiently waiting for her to wake up. "Auntie," she demanded, as soon as the nurse opened her eyes, "story!"

And so the nurse's next chapter began.

OOOOO

Response to Anonymousme: Thanks for the recommendation; I did enjoy the works of hers I read; "Shields," particularly. I'm glad you enjoy them too!


	17. Chapter One: Transitions and Truth

**Part II:**  
 **(which is a lot shorter)**  
 **Caspian's Story**

Chapter One: Transitions and Truth

Disclaimer: the majority of this chapter is directly quoted from _Prince Caspian_. I wasn't sure how many readers will have read it recently, or remember it, so this is a filler chapter that quotes Lewis's masterpiece directly for almost all of it. My apologies to people to whom it is old news; but rereading Lewis is so much fun I'm not sure it's necessary.

A/N: Anything _italicized_ is NOT a direct quotes from Lewis's story. Sometimes it's just a paraphrase of what Lewis wrote, and sometimes it's an interjection.

 _This story begins right before the Nurse leaves, when King Miraz first becomes aware of Caspian's interest in Old Narnia._

"I wish—I wish—I wish I could have lived in the Old Days," said Caspian. (He was only a very little boy at the time.)

Up till now King Miraz had been talking in the tiresome way that some grown-ups have, which makes it quite clear that they are not really interested in what they are saying, but now he suddenly gave Caspian a very sharp look.

"Eh? What's that?" he said. "What old days do you mean?"

"Oh, don't you know, Uncle?" said Caspian. "When everything was quite different. When all the animals could talk, and there were nice people who lived in the streams and the trees. Naiads and dryads they were called. [...] Aslan is the great Lion who comes from over the sea."

"Who has been telling you all this nonsense?" said the King in a voice of thunder. Caspian was frightened and said nothing.

"Your Royal Highness," said King Miraz, letting go of Caspian's hand, which he had been holding till now, "I insist upon being answered. Look me in the face. Who has been telling you this pack of lies?"

"N—Nurse," faltered Caspian, and burst into tears.

"Stop that noise, said his Uncle, taking Caspian by the shoulders and giving him a shake. "Stop it. And never let me catch you talking—or _thinking_ either—about all those silly stories again. [...] Conduct His Royal Highness to his apartments and send His Royal Highness's nurse to me AT ONCE."

Next day Caspian found what a terrible thing he had done, for Nurse had been sent away without even being allowed to say good-bye to him, and he was told he was to have a Tutor.

 _He had run into his nursery, to ask his Nurse why his Uncle had been so angry. But the nursery had been empty, and the lord who brought him here merely left, the door shutting behind him._

 _Caspian had not been alone since his mother had first been grieving; he did not like it._

Caspian missed his nurse very much and shed many tears.

 _It had been a maid, the stern one that smiled at good things and tried not to cry, who told him gently that his nurse was gone. She'd told him Uncle Miraz had sent her away that day. She'd sat on the story chair and held him, and told him that he was getting bigger, and would have a Tutor who would tell him just as many things as Nurse had. But the best thing had been that she had not let him go till he fell asleep._

 _But Nurse was still gone, just like Mother was._

Because he was so miserable, he thought about the old stories of Narnia for more than before. He dreamed of dwarfs and dryads every night and tried very hard to make the dogs and cast in the castle talk to him. But the dogs only wagged their tails and the cats only purred.

 _He missed Nurse pretending to be the cat, and telling him strange things._

Caspian felt sure that he would hate the new Tutor, but when the new Tutor arrived about a week later he turned out to be the sort of person it is almost impossible not to like.

 _Caspian hated that week. At least the Tutor was another person_.

He was the smallest, and also the fattest, man Caspian had ever seen. He had a long, silvery, pointed beard which came down to his waist, and his face, which was brown and covered with wrinkles, looked very wise, very ugly, and very kind. His voice was grave and his eyes were merry that, until you got to know him really well, it was hard to know when he was joking and when he was serious. His name was Doctor Cornelius.

Of all his lessons with Doctor Cornelius the one that Caspian liked best was History. Up till now, except for Nurse's stories, he had known nothing about the History of Narnia, and he was very surprised to learn that the royal family were newcomers in the country.

"It was your Highness's ancestor, Caspian the First," said Doctor Cornelius, "who first conquered Narnia and made it his Kingdom. It was he who brought all your nation into the country. You are not native Narnians at all. You are all Telmarines-that is, you all came from the Land of Telmar, far beyond the Western Mountains. That is why Caspian the First is called Caspian the Conqueror."

"No men—or very few—lived in Narnia before the Telmarines took it," said Doctor Cornelius.

"Then who did my great-great-grandfather conquer?"

" _Whom_ , not _who_ , your Highness," said Doctor Cornelius. "Perhaps it is time to turn from History to Grammar."

"Oh please, not yet," said Caspian. "I mean, wasn't there a battle? Why is called Caspian the Conqueror if there was nobody here to fight with him?"

"I said there were very few _men_ in Narnia," said the Doctor looking at the little boy very strangely through his great spectacles.

"For a moment Caspian was puzzled and then suddenly his heart gave a leap. "Do you mean," he gasped, "that there were other things? Do you mean it was like in the stories? Were there—?"

"Hush!" said Doctor Cornelius, laying his head very close to Caspian's. "Not a word more. Don't you know your nurse was sent away for telling you about Old Narnia? The King doesn't like it. If he found me telling you secrets, you'd be whipped and I should have my head cut off."

"But why?" asked Caspian.

 _Of course the Tutor couldn't answer then. But later, in the middle of the night, the Tutor woke him up to show him a new conjunction of two stars, and there, on the same tower his mother had brought his Nurse, Caspian was told that the stories were true. That naiads and dryads actually existed, and fauns once danced through Narnia's forests. He, a Telmarine boy, was asked by a half-dwarf connected to those stories of old to be a king like the High King Peter was, and not like his uncle. And his heart thrilled at the idea, for it placed the dream that one day, Old Narnia might be something he could live as well as dream._

OOOOO

Response to Anonymousme: I hope you have a good weekend; thanks for reviewing!


	18. Chapter Two: Growing Aware

Chapter Two: Growing Aware

Disclaimer: I'm not quite sure how I dare to redraw lines that Lewis invented, but I love his stories and this is teaching me to be a better writer; as he was a teacher and a storyteller, I'm hoping he would approve.  
Anything underlined is a direct quote from Lewis's work.

A/N: I have no idea how taxes worked in the Golden Age; I seriously doubt it would work in an actual country (this genre is called "fantasy" for a reason), so please don't take this as a political critique!  
 **UPDATED 02/06/19:** I rereading this chapter, I realised I forgot to check it for errors. My apologies! I reread it and hope I caught them all; I also rephrased some of the unclear sentences.

After this, Caspian and his Tutor had many more secret conversations on the top of the Great Tower, and at each conversation Caspian learned more about Old Narnia, so that thinking and dreaming about the old days, and longing that they might come back, filled nearly all his spare hours. But of course he had not many hours to spare, for now his education was beginning in earnest.

He had played with his nurse with sticks, pretending they were swords, but now the knights of his uncle's court taught him to thrust, lung, and parry with a sharp sword made especially for him. Instead of helping the stableboys groom horses, he found his saddled, lords mounted beside it, and he rode it to the fields and learned to gallop, trot, and canter. He learned to swim, to shoot a bow and arrow, and to act as befitting a knight.

From Doctor Cornelius he learned history, strategy, and the delights of reading dusty scrolls in the library. Hidden in King Miraz's own castle, Doctor Cornelius stored a treasure trove. Few lords enjoyed reading; none enjoyed poking through the library to find what they wanted. But Doctor Cornelius organised each scroll and book. He led the young prince to written works hidden behind and under other scrolls, the remnants from a library the Four themselves had rescued or had created. There were scrolls that told of King Peter's heroic battles in rhyming couplets; an entire canvas with the paw-prints of twenty varying animals, with an elegant script that thanked Queen Lucy for her healing cordial. There was a tattered, cracking scroll that showed the alphabet, written over and over again in practice, starting with large childish letters and ending with an elegant, flowing script; Doctor Cornelius said it belonged to Queen Susan. There was a scroll of laws that was the most boring read for a young child, till Doctor Cornelius gently took it from him and told him stories of times the laws were enforced, or created, and the dilemmas that had perplexed the young King Edmund. There was an ancient scroll with crumbling portions that told tales of queen so beautiful water itself retained her reflection; the naiads loved to call for her to come and gaze into their waters, and then splash her unexpectedly, so her reflection was often laughing.

And Doctor Cornelius taught Prince Caspian other lessons. His Nurse had shielded him, as a small child, from the unhappiness in the land his father would have given him. Doctor Cornelius didn't.

He took the golden-haired child out to the nearby town and had him watch people and write down his observations. It would help him practice his writing, the Tutor said. The first market-day thrilled him, reaching to his memories of a festival where he'd first seen the sea. There were crowds, wooden stalls, clothing in dark colors, and _noise_. He wrote about how it was different from the castle and its subdued hallways.

Next week they went again, and Doctor Cornelius told him to record one conversation and one sale. Prince Caspian saw a boy persuade his mother to buy him an apple. Doctor Cornelius read his report, and had him describe the apple's shape, color, and ripeness, and the tones the conversants used.

The next conversation the prince recorded was between a tanner selling a bridle and a farmer with a donkey. The bridle was beautiful, but as he looked it over to remember it, he realised it was made from material that had been already used, and as he watched, he heard the farmer's tones, and they were worried. The farmer reached into his pouch and gave the tanner full half of the coins that fell out of it; a third of the remaining coins were collected by a guard who had been watching over the sale. When he asked Doctor Cornelius about it, Doctor Cornelius explained the concept of "taxes."

The next week, Doctor Cornelius instructed Caspian to look for the tax law being enforced. The prince did.

He watched four times as Narnian Telmarines bought cheaper, poorer products after learning what the tax would be on the higher ones. Seven times He heard children no, something could not be afforded; yes, they had the money, but not the money for tax. The first time, he'd given some of his money to the father of the child asking for a the toy horse. The second time, he bought the Calormen orange and gave it to the older brother to share with his two siblings. The third, fourth, fifth, the six, the seventh—he had no more money.

It was the first time he realised that sometimes people were told "No" because something was good but impossible.

Not because it wasn't wise.

That night (a starry night where his Tutor brought him to the tower), he asked about taxes in the Golden Age of Narnia. And Doctor Cornelius sat with a groan against the tower wall, telling him the discussion would take hours. He asked the prince to name what in the castle might be bought with tax money; the prince thought. Food, he guessed. Doctor Cornelius nodded. Clothing. Armour. Horses. Candles. Dishes. He thought of more, and more, and more. Everything. Everything in Miraz's castle was bought with tax money.

"In the Golden Age, it was said that the castle grounds were extensive. The kings and queens offered housing and shared food to any who wished to come and till the castle grounds; with skilled gardens such as dryads, moles, and fauns, the gardens grew enough to feed all those who lived inside. Taxes were low, as recorded in the ledgers I saw in my own glimpse of that blessed library. Animals offered their castoffs, dwarves their wares, as gifts for the sovereigns who saved them on a regular basis; those could be traded for other supplies. And often visiting dignitaries gave gifts that decorated the castle—at times, that is. There was a record of humorous gifts the monarchs had to hide, or melt down. A statue of Tash, the Calormen god, whips for horses, slave collars—things that had no place in Narnia." He looked at the prince. "It is good you are learning to see the real Narnia, but ware, my prince, of critiquing it. I burn your reports half the time, so they may not be found. Your Uncle does not suffer disagreement from any in his Narnia, least of all one he views as a child. Shh, shh, my prince. You are a child still, and there is no shame in that. Learn, my prince, by observing. Ask no questions, and offer no critiques, except here in safety. But watch. Watch and learn what Narnia is _now_ , even as much as you long to know what Narnia was then." The prince scowled but nodded.

"And one day I will fix it?" The doctor smiled, eyes twinkling even more than usual.

"One day, my prince, you will fix it, even as the four fixed the reign that was before theirs." He got to his feet, his fat body pushing against the stone to get up. "Come, my prince, 'tis time you were in bed." He took the prince's hand and led him back through the door to the castle.

Prince Caspian listened. He watched. After going to market, his Tutor once brought him to Narnia's courts. There those who for whom good was impossible had resorted to illegal actions. And there he watched as families were split apart, children losing their parents like he'd lost his, and his nurse. But their parents were guilty, weren't they?

Only...there was no forgiveness for them. He did not ask Doctor Cornelius about it; he had already heard many stories of King Edmund's just laws, second chances with wary provisions, sometimes even third chances.

Miraz's Narnia offered none.

Though he asked no questions of Doctor Cornelius, the Doctor did not take him to that court again. Perhaps he heard the nightmares the prince had that night. But he did have Caspian read the laws of the Telmarine Narnia, contrasting them with what was known of Old Narnia, and the prince learned again the meaning of the word "forgiveness," and the sternness of the lack of it. He wondered how much forgiveness and wisdom were intertwined, and how King Edmund determined when punishment was just and when forgiveness was better. That was easier to think about then the five-year-old girl weeping as her father was led away for stealing food for her. He was glad that he did not have to make those decisions, but unhappy that his uncle did.

He remembered Doctor Cornelius's words about his uncle, and he started watching his Uncle as well. His Uncle was a good person, a good king, the people around him always said so. But after Doctor Cornelius's words, he watched the way everyone looked at his uncle, and the way his Uncle was cruel to anyone who disagreed with him. Prince Caspian found himself glad he'd only been yelled at once, when he told his Uncle about Old Narnia. But he watched a maid stumble when crossing a hallway in front of them, and flee crying after his Uncle yelled and the people around him silently watched her with no kindness. He watched as stableboys, the ones he'd used to laugh with, flinched away from his Uncle's hand anytime the king was near. And he watched the way some of the ladies who always wore black dresses cried or turned white near his uncle.

And sometimes, late at night when he was in his own bed and could not talk to Doctor Cornelius, he thanks Aslan that his nurse had been sent away, and had not disappeared to a place no one knew where, like the people whose names the ladies in black sometimes said. And he would think of her, and her stories, and the history Doctor Cornelius told him, and fall asleep and dream of the kings and queens who had once made Narnia such a beautiful place. He wanted to make Narnia a place they would be proud of, if they could see it again.

OOOOO

Response to Anonymousme: I know I want to, but what I want and what I'm able to do seldom match up (dryly). I currently have enough limited time I have to choose between writing or reading, and since I'm in the middle of a story...No worries about the review last time! I was hoping to hint, in the children's names, that the nurse had found a safe place to talk about Old Narnia once again. And maybe that she met some ancestors of King Tirian (they could marry into the royal line, right?), but that might be too much speculation! Have a good week, and thanks for reviewing!


	19. Chapter Three: His Own Adventure Begins

Chapter Three: His Own Adventure

Disclaimer: I've now said I didn't own Narnia 34 different times (I went back and counted, for the sake of my own curiosity) in varying different ways, but apparently it bears repeating. Narnia does not belong to me.

Also, Lewis describes a great deal of Caspian's flight and the reason for it, and there's no good reason to add to a master's work, so this will again use a lot of _Prince Caspian_. Anything quoted directly will be underlined. If you think something is missing from my condensed story, go read Lewis's book, it's much better. :)

A/N: May I ask your opinion? I'd planned to condense Caspian's escape, rescue, introduction, and fight into one chapter, perhaps two. I'm realising now that could be a separate chapter for each part of his story; would you prefer that, or prefer to skip till the point where he does actually meet the legends?

OOOOO

After some years there came a time when the Queen seemed to be ill and there was a great deal of bustle and pother about her in the castle and doctors came and the courtiers whispered. This was in early summer time. Prince Caspian wasn't much worried. His aunt had never liked him, and he returned the favor. So he rarely thought about his aunt's condition until one night when Doctor Cornelius shook him awake and told him to be quiet, to put on clothes, and to be ready for a long journey. Caspian was very surprised, but he had learned to have confidence in his Tutor and he began doing what he was told at once. His Tutor had prepared money, and readied a way to gain food without implicating any of the maids or cooks. Once finished, they went to the tower, and there Doctor Cornelius said, "Dear Prince, you must leave this astle at once and go to seek your fortune in the wide world. Your life is in danger here."

"Why?" asked Caspian.

"Because you are the true King of Narnia: Caspian the Tenth-" and his Tutor knelt before him and kissed his hand.

Caspian had been a prince for many years, all his life; but king he was not ready for yet.

Nor was he quite ready to learn that his uncle, the one who walked with him on the battlements of the tower, had stolen the towers from him and killed his father, and possibly his mother. And now Miraz's son was born, and his uncle wanted his life.

Everything he trusted was being yanked from under him. Even his Tutor-who admitted he would only slow his Prince down, and that might mean Caspian's life. His Tutor, who was going away, just like Nurse. Like his mother. Like his father.

But who wanted to find him. Afterwards, when he was safe. And who gave him the greatest gift Caspian had ever received. There, on the tower of his father's castle, he was given something which he could hardly see, but which he knew by the feel to be a horn, smooth, cool, and curved.

It was Queen Susan's. The legends, the stories, the history he'd been taught, had left tools, and he held one in his hands, a magic horn that could summon strange help; perhaps, even perhaps, it could have power to call Queen Lucy and King Edmund, and Queen Susan and the High King Peter back from the past, and they will set all to rights. Perhaps, thought Caspian, he had to lose his castle and his life there so he could go find something better. Something like the stories. Even the four had left their own world to save Narnia. So when Doctor Cornelius opened the door to the tower and peered down the stairs, Caspian ran his fingers along the stones with equal parts of excitement and regret.

The two left the tower, quickly, quickly, speeding down the stairs, clinging to the railing, footsteps soft and muffled and swift. Then came the fresh air in the garden, a fervent handclasp with the Doctor, a run across the lawn, a welcoming whinny from [his horse], and so King Caspian the Tenth left the castle of his fathers. Looking back, he saw fireworks going up to celebrate the birth of the new prince.

Courage. He needed courage, for he knew his uncle's soldiers would be hunting him, death seeking him with a cold sword and an ugly scowl. He'd seen others hunted, thieves and traitors. He felt queer to be a king and yet called a traitor. But as he turned away from the castle he no longer looked back. He was going on his own adventure, and he felt brave and, in a way, happy, to think that he was King Caspian riding to seek adventures, with his sword on his left hip and Queen Susan's magic horn on his right. To think that his own life was becoming a story; no, more, a _legend_. That some day nurses might tell _his_ story to children as they went to bed, and tell them that King Caspian escaped the soldiers and rode to find a new home.

But when day came, with a sprinkle of rain, and he looked about him and saw on every side unknown woods, wild heaths and blue mountains, he thought how large and strange the world was and felt frightened and small.

But, as he found a grassy field to let his horse Destrier rest, he brought to mind all the times High King Peter and King Edmund had went through Narnia. They'd gone on adventures, and rode horses, just like him, through forests and fields. He remembered that they—maybe—had ridden through this same place, and saw the same mountains. It comforted him enough to sleep. And in the morning when he woke, he looked towards the mountains again, fingers running over Queen Susan's horn, and set his course for them. Perhaps he could go find Archenland. It must exist too.

And it would be a good adventure, to find good things, and good people. So he continued riding, until one stormy night, when a tree branch unkindly informed him that adventures were bothersome, painful things and seldom in the adventurer's control. And he wondered, before it hit him, if it was a revenge on the people who had cut down so many trees they sent the dryads of Narnia to a sleep as long as the Witch's winter.

But when he woke with fear at one unfriendly and two puzzled voices, he found that, beyond his Tutor's reassurance, here was proof that Old Narnia existed. For here were two little bearded men, so much wilder and shorter and hairier and thicker than Doctor Cornelius that [Caspian] knew them at once for real Dwarfs, ancient Dwarfs with not a drop of human blood in their veins, and there was also a badger, with a face larger and friendlier and more intelligent than the face of any badger he had seen before; it was a badger that talked. And Caspian knew that he had found the Old Narnians at last. They were called Nikabrik, Trumpkin, and Trufflehunter.

Old Narnia. He had found what he had dreamed of since the first story his nurse had told him about a talking cat. But he found it was not as kind and welcoming as it was in the stories; and, after he thought for a little, he understood. King Peter wasn't ruling, and Old Narnians weren't safe. He was not safe himself, and he remembered the fear he felt when he thought of his uncle's soldiers, and understood why Nikabrik, especially, was not kind. People who were afraid were not kind.

But he still loved them. They were still as magical and true and fierce and adventures as all the stories, and when they three came together to discuss what should be done with him (for he was a human, and now he was the only one), he begged to be allowed to stay. He told them he'd been looking for been looking for people like them all his life. And then, with the innocence of a child, he told them who he was, and Trumpkin and Trufflehunter had to hold Nikabrik down from stabbing their guest. And he drew himself smaller, into the corner, watching as Old Narnia fought Old Narnia about whether he should live, and he wondered if, maybe, this was how King Edmund felt in some of the stories, after he left the White Witch.

But two against one were successful, and Nikabrik was calmed until Caspian could tell his whole story, as clearly and as well as he could remember it. He hoped his Nurse would be proud. Even if Nikabrik didn't like her, and said he thought she should have held her tongue. King Caspian looked at the floor.

But then Trufflehunter spoke, and said, "I'm a beast, I am, and a Badger what's more. We don't change. We hold on. I say great good will come of it. This is the true King of Narnia we've got here: a true King, coming back to true Narnia. And we beasts remember, even if Dwarfs forget, that Narnia was never right except when a Son of Adam was King. [...] It's not Men's country (who should know that better than me?), but it's a country for a man to be King of." And Caspian looked up at her with wonder in his eyes, breath catching. He-he was human, a Son of Adam, and he had believed he'd be King someday, but to look in the face of Old Narnia and hear it declare it was his right was more than he had ever dreamed. He was truly joining the legends, legends of kings and queens going back to Narnia's beginning, who were true to Aslan and true to Narnia, and were given the loyalty of the beasts.

And when Trumpkin challenged her, and she reminded them that High King Peter was a Man, Caspian was startled to hear Trumpkin ask, "Do you believe all those old stories?" and, pressing further, "who believes in Aslan nowadays?" King Caspian himself answered.

"I do," said the King. "And if I hadn't believed in him before, I would now. Back there among the Humans the people who laughed at Aslan would have laughed at stories about talking beasts and Dwarfs. Sometimes I did wonder if there really was such a person as Aslan: but then sometimes I wondered if there were really people like you. Yet there you are." And they were. And as he listened further, as his Tutor had taught him to, he realised that the Dwarfs, at least, would not be persuaded to believe in Aslan simply because he believed. It was odd, to see Old Narnia without its belief in the Lion who sang Old Narnia into existence. But Trufflehunter believed in Aslan as firmly as King Caspian did, and he held on to that, and the hope that someday, he would be a great enough king to teach all of Old Narnia to believe in Aslan again.

All of Old Narnia. He went to sleep that night with the three other Narnians' promise that he would get to meet more of it tomorrow; and he dreamed that night of all the creatures who currently lived in hiding.

OOOOO

Response to Anonymousme: I hope this is soon enough? I should be updating every Tuesday and then once a weekend; Friday, Saturday, or Sunday will depend on what life does to me that weekend! :) I'm so, so glad you liked the last chapter. I'm finding Caspian is more fun to write than I thought he would be (I was rather intimidated), so I'm glad that chapter went well. Have a good weekend!


	20. Chapter Four: Legends are All We Have

Chapter Four: Legends are All We Have Now

Disclaimer: Narnia isn't mine, thought even if it was, I wouldn't be able to keep it. It has grown beyond the grasp of one person. It's marvelous to be a part of something like that.  
Anything underlined is a direct quote from Lewis's masterpiece.

A/N: Since there was very little feedback (and I worked an unexpected 11 hours today and have little brain power), I'm going to let the story flow as it writes, and not rush it. However, this is also a shorter chapter, because I'm tired. Sorry! I wish you happy reading!

 **Updated 02/16/18 for grammatical mistakes, because I shouldn't write after working eleven hours. My apologies to everyone who read it uncorrected.**

Now began the happiest times that Caspian had ever known.

He met the creatures of legend; the bears who snuffled and grumped and offered him honey, the squirrels who chattered nonstop with the energy of the squirrels he'd known before and not much more sense, the dwarves who argued and armed him, the centaur who reminded him that yes, they were of legend, but the times they lived in demanded deeds as great as that of any legend. Deeds to be done by him, who went about in dwarvish armor that was finer and greater than any he had touched, armor made from legends, but who, inside, was only a boy.

But he walked with legends and spoke with them, and to see those hopes made real, led him to hope for more.

He rested on that hope for a few days, as he met more and more of Old Narnia; moles and hedgehogs and _mice_ ; his nurse had never told him of Talking Mice. And later, in a moonlit night, he met fauns who danced and played their pipes, and he saw again that Aslan created many who were like men, but not men, and wondered why a man must be king. Why a boy like himself was their king. Yet during those days, as he slept on Narnia's ground, drank of Narnia's water, and met with Narnia's people, he began to be less of a sheltered prince, though he did not know it himself, and his face wore a kinglier look.

And then came the night of the Council, when he stood before his subjects and nervously wondered what to say, and Doctor Cornelius found them. Found them—and warned them.

Warned them that Miraz was coming. Reminded them that Narnia was not safe.

And Caspian wondered if the kings and queens of legend had ever felt as totally inadequate to the weight of ruling like he did. But his Tutor had good advice, advice all approved of, and Caspian followed it and led his people in a retreat to Aslan's How.

A place from Narnia's deepest legends. It was a round green hill on top of another hill, long since grown over with trees, and one little, low doorway leading into it. The tunnels inside were a perfect maze till you got to know them, and they were lined and roofed with smooth stones, and on the stones, peering in the twilight, Caspian saw strange characters and snaky patterns, and picture sin which the form of a Lion was repeated again and again. It all seemed to belong to an even older Narnian than the Narnia of which his nurse had told him. He wished with all his heart he could have come here as a boy, his nurse at his side, holding a torch, and telling him the stories of the strange lettering.

He wished he had time now, for Doctor Cornelius to teach him about them.

But he had no time. His uncle's scouts found them shortly, and a battle between an inexperienced boy-king's rag-tag army and his clever, murdering uncle's trained army wasn't a battle at all.

He tried. He tried to keep his faith in Aslan when he saw his uncle's soldiers assembled, and he tried to watch and listen to his older advisors, but it wasn't enough. He wondered why the legends never told listeners that there are more bad battles than good ones for young kings. He wondered why the legends never taught that even the good battles do not feel like victories when all hands and paws are needed to help in a dark tunnelled healing room. He wondered why there weren't stories of young kings hearing gasps of pain while sewing a brave, brave mouse back together with only a gifted prickly hedgehog spine.

He believed the legends were true. But he understood a little bit better why Trumpkin didn't. He understood why Nikabrik looked at him with hatred sometimes. Sometimes the stories didn't seem as real as the shaking fur under his hands. But when he finished, the mouse Peepiceek looked up with bright, black eyes reflecting in the torchlight and thanked him with a splendid bow (almost tearing his stitches), and he remembered that'd he just helped a talking mouse. Such things only happened in legends; he would believe in them now.

So when everything when wrong, and they retreated with injures back to Aslan's How only to find their food supplies running low and their people's moral running lower, he still held on to hope; enough to wonder if things couldn't get worse. It was a strange kind of hope, but he looked around and still saw his living friends.

But his friends told him that now, with hope and food low and strength dwindling, he should use the great gift of legend he had been given, and wind Queen Susan's horn.

Him, Caspian of Narnia. Caspian of Old Narnia, now. And he sent a two messengers, on his council's advice, Pattertwig the most sensible of the Squirrels, and, unexpectedly, Trumpkin, who wouldn't fight for the least hope of a legend, but who would go anywhere at a word from his king.

He had never seen such loyalty in his uncle's court. Yes, Doctor Cornelius, I am watching and listening, he thought. And I will hold on to the hope Narnians inspire, and in that hope, I'll wind Queen Susan's horn.

They sent the two messengers, the king's blessing on them (and that he'd learned to do, at least, and Doctor Cornelius's approving nod told him he'd done well). He watched Pattertwig the Squirrel out of sight (it took only a few moments), then turned to watch till Trumpkin was invisible. He took a breath—and heard sudden cries, the flash of metal crashing, and turned and ran towards the sound; battle was joined in the wood. He took out a Telmarine soldier about to spear the Bugly Bear, and ducked under another's swing, jumping forward to shove him into a tree. Sword out, out, as he was taught, shield up, suddenly Trufflehunter at his back, guarding it. _Ram_ forward, the soldier trips, the mice have him! Breathe, a moment to breathe, blood on his lips from a hit; turn, three soldiers there, attacking the black dwarves. _Run_ to their aid, sword out.

The next three hours were a blur; when they finished, dawn had passed, and around him were the groaning bodies of Narnians. Old, and Telmarines. Both were in pain. He closed his eyes.

The legends spoke of battle, but seldom of its cost.

His hand reached for the horn he still wore at his side. What it would bring he didn't know; but he asked it silently to bring hope, and help. He put it to his lips, drew air in his mouth that tasted faintly of coppery blood, and sent it forth, crying with all his heart for help, help from legends of the past for the sorrows of now.

He would never forget the sound that came forth. The whole air was full of it, loud as thunder but far stronger, cool and sweet as music over water, but strong enough to shake the woods. He lowered the horn with his eyes open; all had fallen silent, even the injured. For a moment it seemed even the trees were listening.

He shook himself; he was still a king. "Move the wounded back to the How," he ordered, stooping to help an injured dwarf to his feet. "We regroup there."

Never had a retreat been so quiet. But the silence held more of wonder than of pain, and he closed his eyes when it was finished and prayed,

 _Aslan, send us help. I hope you will. The legends say you do. Please, help your Narnians._

The Narnians he wasn't old enough to lead. The Narnians the Lion of legend had to help now.

OOOOO

Response to Anonymousme: Thank you for the advice; hopefully this works. Have a good week!


	21. Chapter Five: Meeting the Legends

Chapter Five: Meeting the Legends

Disclaimer: Own Narnia I do not. To quote Yoda.

A/N: The next chapter takes up a whole chapter in Lewis's book, so it'll be one in mine. Again, a lot of re-reading for those who read _Prince Caspian_ recently, but since it's a work of beauty it should still be enjoyable. All dialogue from this chapter is lifted straight from _Prince Caspian_ the book. I'm not underlining it this time because I find that distracting, and since there's a clear delineation between what I write and what's word-for-word Lewis's, I'm just putting this statement at the beginning.

OK, on writing the rest of the story I changed my mind. There's two descriptions as well, the descriptions of the hag and werewolf voices where I used Lewis's words as well. Sorry—he just writes so much better!

OOOOO

They waited days. It was hard to wait; particularly for a young boy, and it made his temper short. But Aslan had granted him a gift he hadn't known would be a gift; he had been waiting for Old Narnia most of his life. It made him able to wait with hope now.

It was not so easy for others. They did not go to battle again in those few days. The wounded lay in pain, trying to heal. The more able-bodied had nothing to do but sit in the halls of Aslan's How and wait. Wait with an enemy nearby and limited resources dwindling. That took what hope some of Old Narnians had, even though they waited where Aslan had won Narnia's greatest victory yet. The past victory wasn't enough proof for the present trouble, not when the past didn't respond to summons in the present, and some of the Old Narnians, particularly the fauns and Black Dwarves, began to leave, slipping away in the night for new, lonely hiding places far from Miraz's army. Finally, the council called a meeting.

It did not begin well; Nikabrik, already accusatory, told Caspian perhaps he would have seen results by now if he'd just blown the horn at the proper time.

Caspian struggled to keep his own temper, especially in front of the two new people Nikabrik had brought with him. "You know well enough why the Horn was not blown at sunrise that morning. Have you forgotten that Miraz fell upon us almost before Trumpkin had gone, and we were fighting for our lives for the space of three hours and more? I blew it when first I had a breathing space."

He'd tried keeping his temper in vain; Nikabrik lost his anyway. "I'm not likely to forget it, when my Dwarfs bore the brunt of the attack and one in five of them fell." They'd _all_ fought that day; but Caspian remembered the dwarf he'd helped back to the How first; he had died the next morning. Trufflehunter stepped in before Caspian could respond.

"For shame, Dwarf. We all did as much as the Dwarfs and none more than the King."

"Tell that tale your own way for all I care." Nikabrik was nearly growling now, as much as a badger would. Prince Caspian sometimes wished he had an easier council. "But whether it was that the Horn was blown too late, or whether there was no magic in it, no help has come. You, you great clerk, you master magician, you know-all;" and here Caspian firmly clenched his hands and bit his tongue; he had seen what happened when a King refused to let others voice their opinions, and he'd promised himself that wouldn't be him as king, "are you still asking us to hang our hopes on Aslan and King Peter and all the rest of it?"

The council-plus-two turned as one to look at Doctor Cornelius, who was, after all, the one who knew the most about these things. Please, Caspian begged inside, tell them what you told me when I wanted to be a king as a little boy, and you told me Aslan brings things in good time. I wasn't ready to be a king then, I know that now. Tell them they have to wait.

But Doctor Cornelius looked _old_ , older than Caspian was used to thinking of him. "I must confess—I cannot deny it—that I am deeply disappointed in the results of the operation." Caspian's heart sank. Surely he couldn't be the only one who still believed Aslan would come? He looked around; no, there was Trufflehunter, whose faith was even stronger than his own. And the two new people he knew nothing about, who were watching and listening even more than he was. But Nikabrik was speaking again.

"To speak plainly, your wallet's empty, your eggs addled, your fish uncaught, your promises broken. Stand aside then and let others work. And that is why—"

"The help will come," interrupted Trufflehunter. "I stand by Aslan. Have patience, like us beasts. The help will come. It may be even now at the door." Surely not, Caspian said, glancing at the darkness of the passageway, filled with shadows. If help was there, surely it would have ridden in by now, sword flashing, and making Miraz's army run in fear.

"Pah!" snarled a voice that interrupted his thoughts. "You badgers would have us wait till the sky falls and we can all catch larks. I tell you we _can't_ wait. Food is running short; we lose more than we can afford at every encounter; our followers are slipping away."

"And why?" responded Trufflehunter. "I'll tell you why. Because it was noised among them that we have called on the Kings of old and the Kings of old have not answered. The last words Trumpkin spoke before he went (and went, most likely, to his death)," and Caspian's eyes fell to the floor, surely not, surely Aslan would keep even skeptical, loyal Trumpkin safe, he wasn't ready to be a king who sent his friends on missions to their deaths, "were 'If you must blow the Horn, do not let the army know why you blow it or what you hope from it.' But that same evening everyone seemed to know."

"You'd better have shoved your grey snout in a hornets' nest, badger, than suggest that I am the blab. Take it back, or—"

"Oh, stop it, both of you." He'd had enough of fighting among his council; there was enough of that outside. And it wasn't helping solve the problem. "I want to know what it is that Nikabrik keeps on hinting we should do. But before that, I want to know who those two strangers are whom he has brought into our council and who stand there with their ears open and their mouths shut."

The black dwarf stiffened. "They are friends of mine," he snapped. "And what better right have you yourself to be here than that you are a friend of Trumpkin's, and the badger's? And what right has that old dotard in the black gown to be here except that he is your friend? Why am I to be the only one who can't bring in his friends?" Caspian looked at him wearily. Nikabrik's hatred for all things Telmarine had been growing, ever since the battles started, and it hurt more than the cuts on his arms and the one on his face sometimes.

But Trufflehunter again jumped to his defense, saying sternly: "His Majesty is the King to whom you have sworn allegiance."

"Court manners, court manners," was the sneering response. "But in this hole we may talk plainly. You know—and he knows—that this Telmarine boy will be king of nowhere and nobody in a week unless we can help him out of the trap in which he sits." Caspian was silent. For all his hatred, Nikabrik wasn't wrong.

"Perhaps," his tutor asked, and Caspian took heart at the gentle, wise tone, "your new friends would like to speak for themselves. You there, who and what are you?"

"Worshipful master doctor," and Caspian shuddered at the thin, whining voice, "So please you, I'm only a poor old woman, I am, and very obliged to his Worshipful Dwarfship for his friendship, I'm sure. His Majesty," and Caspian's hand almost went to the hilt of his sword when the old, cold eyes looked at him, "bless his handsome face, has no need to be afraid of the old woman, that's nearly doubled up with rheumatics and hasn't two sticks to put under her kettle. I have some poor little skill—not like yours, master doctor, of course—in small spells and cantrips that I'd be glad to use against our enemies if it was agreeable to all concerned. For I hate 'em. Oh yes. No one hates better than me." Caspian's hand held the hilt of his sword. Hate already haunted the council enough; he didn't need more spilling into his ears. King Peter wouldn't have let her stay. But his Tutor speaking.

"That is all most interesting and—er—satisfactory. I think I now know what you are, madam," and Caspian turned slightly, he knew that tone in the Doctor's voice, and he'd heard it used with the lords in his uncle's court who Doctor Cornelius had called snake-like. "Perhaps your other friend, Nikabrik, would give some account of himself?"

If the old woman's voice had made Caspian shudder, this one made him want to run and hide and never come out. It was dull, grey voice to make flesh creep, saying in a slow way, "I'm hunger. I'm thirst. Where I bite, I hold till I die, and even after death they must cut out my mouthful from my enemy's body and bury it with me. I can fast a hundred years and not die. I can lie a hundred nights on the ice and not freeze. I can drink a river of blood and not burst. Show me your enemies." For a moment Caspian pictured his uncle, his father's killer, the one who ripped his Nurse from him, at this being's mercy—but turned resolutely away from the picture. King Peter wouldn't, King Edmund wouldn't, and neither would he. He turned back to Nikabrik.

"And it is in the presence of these two that you wish to disclose your plan?" he asked.

"Yes," the Black Dwarf responded. "And by their help that I mean to execute it."

King Caspian felt a hand on his arm; Doctor Cornelius was trying to draw him back. He stood and took Trufflehunter's arm, drawing the two of them away from the hearing of the other three. Doctor Cornelius, in a low voice, warned him to remember the monsters in the old Narnian stories; he looked over, and could see the man-like creature's nose lengthening, mouth filling with sharp teeth, and dead eyes staying the same; he could hear the evil magic running in the old woman's voice, and bending over her shoulders. But he also told the two they had no choice, and no help; they owed it to Nikabrik at least to listen. The three went back, sitting again in their chairs.

"Well, Nikabrik," he said, trying to be fair, as he imagined King Edmund would be, "we will hear your plan."

Nikabrik, for the first time since the first battle, didn't take offense. He explained, instead, his reasoning. Caspian listened. Nikabrik wasn't demanding they say the dwarfs suffered the most, wasn't screaming his pain at them; he was explaining himself. He believed the legends of the past happened, too; he believed their powers could carry over to today.

But he was done waiting for Aslan's kings and queens, or even Aslan Himself. "He was not always a good friend to Dwarfs by all that's told. Not even to all beasts. Ask the Wolves. And anyway, he was in Narnia only once that I ever heard of, and he didn't stay long. You may drop Aslan out of the reckoning. I was thinking of someone else."

Caspian thought back to other legends, to King Frank, Corin ThunderFist, Gale the Dragon-Slayer. But they had all stayed in Narnia till they died, and they had nothing to call them back. "Whom do you mean?" he asked finally.

"I mean a power so much greater than Aslan's that it held Narnia spellbound for years and years, if the stories are true."

Caspian jumped to his feet, feeling Trufflehunter and Doctor Cornelius doing the same on either side. "The White Witch!" It was cry that came from them all, and he remembered with a pounding heart the cruelty of her reign, the stone statues he'd heard decorating her courtyard. Aslan's blood dripping from the broken table only a few feet away. Never, ever, ever, would he deal with a Witch who killed Aslan.

"Yes." Nikabrik's answer was slow, firm, and studied in determination. "I mean the Witch. Sit down again. Don't all take fright at a name as if you were children. We want power: and we want a power that will be on our side. As for power, do not the stories say that the Witch defeated Aslan, and bound him, and killed him on that very stone which is over there, just beyond the light?"

"But they also say that he came to life again." Trufflehunter's voice cut through Nikabrik's argument.

"Yes, they _say_ , but you'll notice that we hear precious little about anything he did afterwards. He just fades out of the story. How do you explain that, if he really came to life? Isn't it much more likely that he didn't, and that the stories say nothing more about him because there was nothing more to say?"

"He established the Kings and Queens," Caspian said. He must have done; all good Narnian kings ruled by the permission of Aslan alone.

"A King who has just won a great battle can usually establish himself without the help of a performing lion." It was _Aslan_ who killed the Witch and brought her power to an end! Caspian thought. Trufflehunter growled fiercely beside him.

"And anyways," the dwarf continued, "what comes of the Kings and their reign? They faded too. But it's very different with the Witch. They say she ruled for a hundred years: a hundred years of winter. There's power, if you like. There's something practical."

Caspian couldn't listen silently any longer. "But, heaven and earth! haven't we always been told that she was the worst enemy of all? Wasn't she a tyrant ten times worse than Miraz?"

Nikabrik looked up at him with disdain in every inch of his bearded face. "Perhaps. Perhaps she _was_ for you humans, if there were any of you in those days. Perhaps she was for some of the beasts. She stamped out the Beavers, I daresay; at least there are none of them in Narnia now. But she got on all right with us Dwarfs. I'm a Dwarf and I stand by my own people. _We're_ not afraid of the Witch."

"But you've joined with us," the badger interrupted.

"Yes, and a lot of good it has done my people so far. Who is sent on all the dangerous raids? The Dwarfs. Who goes short when the rations fail? The Dwarfs. Who-"

"Lies! All lies!" Trufflehunter was up and growling, claws extended.

Nikabrik was nearly screaming now. "And so, if you can't help my people, I'll go to someone who can!"

Caspian drew his sword, heart racing. "Is this open treason, Dwarf?"

The dwarf sneered. "Put that sword back in its sheath, Caspian. Murder at council, eh? Is that your game?" It wasn't, but if Nikabrik could only see his own pain and chose evil because he thought there was less pain in it, as Aslan's King Caspian had no choice but to fight evil wherever it came. This went beyond listening to a subject's plan. "Don't be fool enough to try it. Do you think I'm afraid of you? There's three on my side, and three on yours."

"Come on, then" snarled the badger, and Caspian brought his sword up, before-

"Stop, stop, stop," his Tutor interrupted. Caspian lowered his sword but didn't sheath it. "You go on too fast. The Witch is dead. All the stories agree on that. What does Nikabrik mean by calling on the Witch?"

"Oh, _is_ she?" It was the voice that sounded like despair had been given a body, joined by the shrill, high, shuddery one.

"Oh, bless his heart, his dear little Majesty needn't mind about the White Lady—that's what _we_ call her—being dead." She was grinning at him, a fearful grin under a crooked nose. "The Worshipful Master Doctor is only making a game of a poor old woman like me when he says that. Sweet master doctor, learned master doctor, who ever heard of a witch that really died? You can always get them back."

The man-creature stepped forward. "Call her up. We are all ready. Draw the circle. Prepare the blew fire."

By Aslan, this would not happen. Over his followers objections, Caspian thundered "So that is your plan, Nikabrik! Black sorcery and the calling up of an accursed spirit. And I see who your companions are—a Hag and a Wer-Wolf!" The wolf leaped at him, beginning to change in the air, and he brought up his sword and slashed, calling on all tricks he'd learned in the past battles. He dodged the claws. Turn. Slash. There was more movement than there should be; then something hit the light and everything was dark. He cried out as something sunk deeply into his arm, pain running up through his arm and shoulder. He stabbed with his sword, and the teeth released. He listened; most of the movement had ceased; there was only breathing. His was shuddering, trying not to cry at the pain of this wound. A voice he didn't know called out in the dark,

"Are you all right, Ed?"

"I—I think so," said another voice, human by the sound of it, maybe young? "I've got that brute Nikabrik, but he's still alive." Someone on their side, then. It was hard to think through the pain.

"Weights and water-bottles!" Trumpkin? That sounded like- "It's _me_ you're sitting on. Get off. You're like a young elephant." It _was_ Trumpkin.

"Sorry, D.L.F." said the second voice. Maybe it wasn't—DLF? "Is that better?"

"Ow! No! You're putting your boot in my mouth. Go away."

"Is King Caspian anywhere?" It was the first voice, also human, commanding and clear.

"I'm here." He tried not to sound weak. "Something bit me."

Someone struck a match, and a face appeared, a boy's face, pale, dirty, but...not like the Telmarine boys Caspian had seen. It was hard to describe, but it was a face Caspian felt like trusting, even following. The face moved around for a few moments till its owner found a candle and set it on the table.

Six faces had been there before the fight; six were there now. Doctor Cornelius and Trufflehunter, Caspian saw with relief, and yes, it was Trumpkin with his red beard, and two boys he didn't know. One was already looking around.

"We don't seem to have any enemies left. There's the Hag, dead." He passed by her with barely a glance. "And Nikabrik, dead too. And I suppose this thing is a Wer-Wolf. It's so long since I've seen one." Caspian looked at him closely; where had he been, that he'd seen one? And how long could it be, since he was a boy in years? "Wolf's head and man's body. That means he was just turning from man into wolf at the moment he was killed." He turned to look at Caspian. "And you, I suppose, are King Caspian?"

"Yes. But I've no idea who you are." He offered it partly as apology, partly as a question.

"It's the High King, King Peter." That was Trumpkin, the skeptic, who didn't believe. Caspian looked from him back to the boy, barely older than himself, who regarded him with a steady look. Caspian realised his hands were shaking. He called on all the training from his uncle's court; how did one greet a returning king?

"Your majesty is very welcome." That—that didn't seem like enough. Not for the legend come to save them. But the High King Peter responded kindly.

"And so is _your_ Majesty. I haven't come to take your place, you know, but to put you into it." King Caspian looked at him in wonder.

"Your Majesty." It was Trufflehunter, faithful, believing Trufflehunter, who had the same wonder in her eyes as Caspian. High King Peter kissed her head in blessing, a High King to his subject.

"Best of badgers. You never doubted us all through." Caspian smiled; like all the legends said, the faithful were rewarded. And it was humbling, to see the High King as King with Narnians.

"No credit to me, your Majesty. I'm a beast and we don't change. I'm a badger, what's more, and we hold on." Caspian's eyes went from her to his other council member, dead, because he hadn't been able to hold on. One who had believed the legends, but all the wrong ones. Because he'd given up on the right ones.

"I am sorry for Nikabrik." He wiped his sword and sheathed it, taking a step towards the Black Dwarf's body. "Though he hated me from the first moment he saw me. He had gone sour inside from long suffering and hating. If we had won quickly he might have become a good Dwarf in the days of peace. I don't know which of us killed him. I'm glad of that."

"You're bleeding." It was High King Peter. _It was the High King Peter_. And he sounded concerned; Caspian looked down at his arm.

"Yes, I'm bitten. It was that—" he glanced at the Wer-Wolf body and shuddered. "That wolf thing." The other boy—King Edmund, it must be—took a white square he called a "hanky" out of one pocket and asked for water; he and Doctor Cornelius bound it up.

"Now," Trumpkin said, "before everything else we want some breakfast" And Caspian smiled, because Trumpkin was back, and he might believe in the legends now, but he certainly hadn't lost his practical side.

And the High King, remembering his duties, designated what should be done with the bodies in Aslan's How, and once the duties were done, he and his two companions brought out some meat they had in their pockets, Trumpkin lit a fire, and King Caspian found himself sitting down to a meal with the kings his nurse had told him about.

If that was possible, then so was winning Narnia.

OOOOO

A/N: Six pages. Thank you, Lewis, for making such a long chapter, which resulted in so much writing.  
Well, actually, I'd much rather have more of his Narnia than less, so I shouldn't be complaining. But that was _long_.

Response to Anonymousme: Thanks so much for your kind words, and encouragement! It makes writing a lot more fun.


	22. Chapter Six: Aslan's Own

Chapter Six: Aslan's Own

Disclaimer: I am not guilty of stealing Narnia, only of borrowing it. Without permission, 'tis true, but that's allowed here. Again, anything underlined is a direct quote from Lewis's books.

A/N: I'm posting a day early because I'm watching five children under the ages of five tomorrow, and I'm guessing writing would not happen. Scratch that, I know writing would not happen. (And I'll have to pretend to be an adult.)

OOOOO

Breakfast with the legends wasn't quite what King Caspian had dreamed about. King Peter would have sat on a majestic throne (not on a wooden chair), torches everywhere (not a darkly lit underground room that didn't even have Aslan's broken table in it), and food grander than anything in his uncle's court (Caspian was sure that even in his uncle's tent not so far away was more food than the bear meat, onions, and lumps of cheese they were eating). The High King would be tall, taller than everyone else in the room (well, he was taller than the dwarves, badgers, and mice). The moment he opened his mouth everyone would stop to listen and his words would ring throughout the room.

Instead, the two kings-who-were-boys sat on chairs and got busy unwrapping the meat from leaves. After the first two King Edmund borrowed a knife from a nearby centaur ("Good cousin, may I borrow your knife?") and busily cut into pieces the portions, dealing them out fairly, while King Peter unwrapped the rest. When they were finished, ("Here's yours, Ed, and don't argue, you need it too"), the two of them sat and ate, just like all the other soldiers in the army.

Only they weren't. King Peter's eyes roamed through the room, glancing at a cut on that faun's arm, the tilted bandage on a mouse's head, the sword at the same mouse's side. After he'd noted each (and Caspian had never seen his uncle do that), he turned to Caspian, Doctor Cornelius, and Trufflehunter.

"How much of the army is this, eating with us?"

Caspian stuttered, a little shy in front of the kings.

"About a third, your majesty," Doctor Cornelius answered for him, looking up from slicing his cheese.  
"Any great cats?"

"Very few, your majesty, they were hunted fiercely during Caspian the First's reign, for their coats." Caspian looked down as his Tutor confessed the Telmarine slaughters, not meeting King Peter's eyes. But the King seemed not to notice.

"What about giants?"

"One, your majesty. He's been a very successful ploy once, and a failure a few other times, if you were thinking of using him in battle. He's the last of his kind in Narnia." Caspian set his food down. He wasn't very hungry anymore. But a hand touched his shoulder. He looked up; King Edmund's face was looking straight at him-and through him. He remembered what his nurse had said King Edmund's eyes saw deeply into people, and he winced. But the king's warm hand remained on his shoulder.

"Caspian the First's conquering was not your doing," he said quietly. "Remember, Aslan saw fit to let him come to Narnia, even as He brought you here, now. As long as you follow the Lion, you will be a better king to Narnians than the First was. But there will be times, Caspian, when you will fall short. That is a part of what being human means. Aslan will forgive you for it. But this, at least, is not something that needs to weigh on your shoulders." He turned back to his older brother, who was tapping a finger on his knee and frowning slightly, oblivious to what his sibling had been doing. King Edmund poked him. "I say, Peter, eat up. Or I'll steal it."

King Peter scowled, but his mouth half-smiled as well. "Hands off, it's mine. But I could see if they have apples, if you like." King Edmund shuddered, and King Peter laughed, before obeying his brother and taking a bite. He nodded over to the faun he'd looked at first. "Look, Ed, doesn't he look like our old armsmaster? His sword, worn on the right hip—I'm thinking he can fight left-handed. Remember how Kelltree fought with the centaurs, and guarded their flanks, and we put the archers on the other side? Even if we don't have archers, we can use the brush on the trees as a defense." King Edmund nodded, and added his own observations about the Narnians in the room. King Caspian watched in fascination for the rest of breakfast, as the two siblings looked and acted like boys before a hunt in his uncle's court, but who seemed so much more aware of the Narnians around them than even King Miraz had been.

After breakfast, King Peter came up with an idea none of them had thought of, not even Caspian. He would challenge the Usurper Miraz to single combat, to gain them time for the kings to inspect the Narnian army, and possibly to fight for Aslan's people, since they were not strong enough to win themselves.

Caspian, who had come to understand exactly how little it bothered his uncle to kill as he'd tended to wounded Narnians, asked if he could be the one to fight, for the Narnians, and for the father his uncle had killed. But King Peter, kindly, pointed out that his uncle would probably laugh the messengers out if it was Caspian doing the challenging. He dictated the letter to Doctor Cornelius (while Caspian listened in awe), and then appointed three messengers, the giant, the centaur Glenstorm, and his brother, King Edmund. King Peter saw them off with a quick clasp of his brother's arms, and an "Aslan go with you, Ed." He watched them till they were out of sight in the trees, then turned to Caspian. "All right, let's go look at your army, King Caspian," he said cheerfully. They turned and walked beside the How.

"The best view is from the top," Caspian explained, a little timidly. King Peter nodded, and they started climbing.

King Caspian kept stealing glances at his companion. He climbed just like a boy about Caspian's own age, but, just that morning he'd come up with the idea of single combat. He seemed like...just one person. One good person, but still one person. Legends just seemed...weren't they more than that?

They reached the top of the hill, and King Caspian pointed to where the centaurs sheltered. "There's fourteen."

"And how many are archers?" King Peter asked, looking where the finger pointed.

"How did you know they'd be archers?" King Caspian asked, turning to look at Peter, startled. The High King smiled.

"Most centaurs are. Many excel at swordfighting as well, because of the strength of their arms, but it is the gift of those Aslan called to read the stars to have good eyesight, and so many also are archers." His smile was friendly and warm. "How many of them can shoot well, King Caspian?"

"All fourteen," King Caspian answered. He'd never even thought about how gifts in one area could make good warriors. "But, they have to have help making the arrows, because many of them have cuts on their fingers, from the trees."

"Centaurs were made for the plains," King Peter agreed, and King Caspian nodded. "But Aslan calls us outside our comfort zones sometimes." He paused. "How much do you know of Narnia?" he asked, his tone curious. King Caspian blushed.

"Not much," he admitted shyly. "My nurse—she told me stories, growing up, of Old Narnia, and Doctor Cornelius told me what he could when we wouldn't be overheard, but not much of that helps me to be king." He hesitated. "I'm glad your back, King Peter," he added. The High King's eyes grew farseeing, and he didn't speak for a long moment.

"Narnia is home," he said at last, "and glad I am to come back to it. But know this, King Caspian," and he looked back at the younger boy, "we will fight, my brother and I and my sisters, but we are fighting for you as much as for Narnia." His tone grew gentler, and Caspian was glad, for the weight of his words frightened the younger king a little. "You are Aslan's king, and there is no better choice. There never is; it was Aslan's choice, and Aslan's choice alone, that made me king; not who I was when the White Witch reigned. I had faults then, and faults now. As you do. And if ignorance is your main fault, then be glad, for it is a fault that's more easily remedied, and I will do what I can to help. But do not doubt that you are enough." He smiled, and added, "Most kings feel they are not enough; but meeting Aslan explains why. You will see yourself one day, soon, I have no doubt. Come, tell me more about Narnia's army today, and I will tell you more about why things might be so." And so they spent their time, till the three messengers came back with surprising news. King Peter and King Caspian met them inside the How.

"King Miraz has accepted the challenge," King Edmund told his brother. The Narnians who had gathered around erupted into chatter. King Edmund moved closer to be heard. "I've marked off the field, Peter. We need three Marshals of the Lists—they've kept that from our days."

"Marshals of the Lists?" Caspian interrupted. He looked back at King Peter, relieved to see the king didn't mind the interruption. "Can I—can I be one?" He wanted so earnestly to be a part of this fight for Narnia.

"I'm afraid not, Caspian. Since we're fighting over your right to be king, you cannot be one of those who enforce the rules of the fight." A voice at his elbow interrupted him, and King Caspian hid a smile at the Bulgy Bear who was sucking on his paws. Was it a part of being a king, he wondered, to always be interrupted? He smiled as he remembered his thought, that every time King Peter opened his mouth the entire room would hush.

"King Caspian?" Caspian turned towards the gruff voice; Trumpkin was standing beside him. "The other kings are headed off, and I think it's about time you had your arm seen to again. Come alone." He turned, and Caspian followed, glancing back at the kings headed in the other direction. As he headed down the tunnel he heard King Edmund's voice saying:

"I suppose it is all right. I mean, I suppose you can beat him?"

"That's what I'm fighting him to find out," the High King responded, and King Caspian froze.

Of course King Peter would win. He was _King Peter_. But Caspian remembered the walk up the hill, where he'd looked over and King Peter had been just a boy, like him. One Aslan chose, King Peter had said, and Aslan's choice had become a legend-

But he was still just a boy. Like Caspian.

Heavy footsteps on stone sounded, and Trumpkin came back in sight. "All right, King Caspian?" he asked, and the king looked at the red-bearded face. The face of a skeptic who became a believer; one who had seen Aslan.

"Trumpkin," he asked, walking forward once more, "tell me about Aslan." And the dwarf laughed, falling in step beside his king.

"Took me in His mouth and shook me like a rabbit, he did," he said. "But I'd rather be there again than safe in here. You'll understand when you meet Him."

When I meet Him, Caspian thought. When I meet the last of the past Legends come back to Narnia, then I'll understand. I'll understand how a boy can be a king, and how one person can be a legend.

Aslan, he prayed, as he sat down on a chair to wait for the next healer, a squirrel, to jump on his stool and attend his arm, keep Your legends, Your own king, safe tomorrow.

OOOOO

Response to Anonymousme: I'm really glad you liked the past chapter; I was worried about intertwining my work with Lewis's. I'm afraid I have no advice to offer; I've been blessed to have one of the best mothers I've ever known, and am old enough I ask for her advice but make my own silly decisions, and then realize I should have taken her advice to begin with! Good luck!


	23. Chapter Seven: Living in a Legend

Chapter Seven: Living in a Legend

Disclaimer: I do not own the duel, the characters, the story, the world, nor anything else pertaining to what is read herein.  
Anything underlined is directly quoted from "How All Were Very Busy" from _Prince Caspian_.

A/N: Anonymousme pointed out that there were other giants in Narnia during _The Silver Chair_ who saw Caspian off, and in the last chapter Doctor Cornelius's response to Peter's question, "Giants?" was "One." To clarify, Doctor Cornelius was reporting how many giants were in the Narnian army; though there may have been more in hiding, only one showed up to the council on the Dancing Lawn, and only one is mentioned in subsequent battles, so for the purpose of reporting to King Peter, there was one giant. I apologise for the unclear implications in that conversation.

OOOOO

The next morning all three kings went round the How once again, speaking with the army, quietly inviting them to the largest chamber (everyone except the sentries), and there King Peter explained to the group that he had challenged Miraz for the throne of Narnia, and their duel would be that afternoon. The Narnian army was to come, to watch, and to see justice done, but not to interfere in the fight in any way, unless the Telmarine army broke the rules first. They were to go armed, alert, but not (and here King Peter looked at the group of mice) eager for a fight. This was a duel, not a battle. The mice's leader, Reepicheep, bowed and swore on his honor that he would uphold the honor of Narnia and the king, unless the Telmarines proved themselves honorless. With the exception of King Caspian, the mouse added, bowing once again. And King Caspian hid a chuckle and bowed gravely back; both kings were looking at him with approval when he straightened. Looking out over the group of Narnians— _his_ Narnians, and though he wasn't ready to lead them he was ready to love them, he realised—seeing them under their kings of legend, it was almost easy to hope.

But then time started to crawl. One hour passed, as the Narnians armed themselves and milled around. Caspian breathed a sigh of relief. But the next hour crawled. Narnians milled around, talking in low voices. Or, in the case of the mice, high-pitched quiet voices that could still be heard over everyone else.

Another hour, and King Peter quietly suggested they start preparing lunch; it was a relief to have something to do. People took their time, and ate in small groups, settling according to kinds, as the seating inside made that more preferable. The two kings walked over to where Caspian was sitting in one of the room's corners with Doctor Cornelius; both boys were smiling.

"Up, King Caspian, and go among your people." King Peter's voice was low, and Caspian, though puzzled, scrambled to his feet with the help of King Peter's hand.

"It is always good idea to walk with your people before you lead them into something dangerous," King Edmund explained, turning towards the room with Caspian in the middle of the two. "Our first general and best teacher taught us that, in our first battle after we took the thrones." Both kings waited for Caspian to take the first step, and walked beside him as he took it.

And stayed beside him, as he went to the mice, and bowed with him as the mice received them with all courtesy. King Peter listened gravely as the diminutive, high-hearted soldiers gave him advice on the best ways to skewer the usurper with his sword; and if King Edmund was smiling, King Caspian noticed he turned away to do so. They went to the dwarves, next, King Edmund quietly reminding his brother that the dwarves might complain later if they were left till even midway. Many of the dwarves, the Black Dwarves especially, stayed silent, but some other ones gruffly handed the kings food and told them to eat, especially you, King Peter, as you'll need your strength. The centaurs, the bears, the dogs, the squirrels, all the Narnians—Caspian watched as the two kings interacted with them with grace, honor, and respect. Last were the fauns, sitting on the floor with their swords and flutes beside them. As they stood, bowed, and were seated again at the kings' request, King Edmund spoke with them about the music they loved, naming his favorite tunes from perhaps a thousand years ago. He hummed one they didn't know—his brother laughed quietly—and the fauns picked up their flutes and tried to imitate him. It was a high, fluttering tune that deepened and strengthened into a quick clash of steel; a battle song. The rest of the Narnians gathered round, listening; once the fauns could carry the tune, King Peter and King Edmund taught the rest of the soldiers the words. It spoke of home, a forest and a castle and a cave, with neighbors in each, and the blessing of Aslan. But as the notes first began to lower, it spoke of rumors of war, of hatred of Aslan and all things good; a few notes lower, and the steps of enemy soldiers were heard across the river from the singer's home. And then came the battle, with the soldiers begging for Aslan's blessing, and then a deep, deep verse of pain of cuts and death, and the an upward note, of victory and yet weariness, and then the final verse, fluting again, of the walk home and homecoming. It was, King Caspian realised, deliberately chosen, as the faces around him, human, animal, and other, all reflected the same longing for home.

King Peter broke the spell, saying "The duel is in two hours. Clean up your lunch and ask for Aslan's blessing; we march as soon as we're ready."

The walk to Miraz's camp was not long, but arranging the Narnians so they could all see (mice in front, the giant at the very back at the edge of the woods) took some time; Caspian and the Doctor handled most of it, Caspian trying not to think about the arena in the middle where King Peter would be fighting. Finished, checking the Narnians one more time, Caspian turned to look at his uncle's army, about two arrow-shots away. Men, clad in dark armor, waiting, some stirring restlessly, with a low hum of indistinct conversation being the only thing he could hear from that side. They were so much larger than Caspian, or even High King Peter. And in-between the two armies, a square space of level grass, staked clearly with pegs and ropes. A place where King Peter would fight someone much taller, heavier, and stronger than him.

Caspian heard a burst of high-pitched voices and was distracted, looking back out over the army. He left the Doctor to go to the mice, recognizing the shrillness, only to find it was them cheering King Peter on before the duel even begun. They were truly fearless. On his way back he heard another sound, a rustling, creaking, windblown sound, and turned.

Behind the Narnians, almost beyond sight on the edge of the wood, were hundreds of tall, swaying, strong people, moving with grace as a mob, closer and closer. He stood stunned, then ran to where Doctor Cornelius was standing near King Edmund.

"Doctor?" he panted, waiving his arm at the people. The Doctor turned.

"Great Aslan!" he exclaimed, taking a half-step towards them. "He—He woke them!"

"Them, Doctor?" Caspian was getting his breath back now, and turning from the Doctor to the people and back again.

"Dryads." The Doctor's eyes were still fastened on the woodspeople, but he shook himself and turned back towards the middle of the clearing. Caspian took one last look at the crowd—more beautiful than he had imagined they would be, even when discussing them with his Nurse—and back towards were King Peter was almost at the roped square. He fell silent. King Peter would be fighting, for his life, for Narnia, for their freedom.

But Aslan had awoken the Dryads and sent them; that surely meant King Peter would win, didn't it?

King Peter bowed and seemed to speak to Miraz, though it was too far and too low for Caspian to hear. Next moment the two swords flashed in the sunlight. Caspian found himself cheering, yelling King Peter's name, listening at the same time to King Edmund's "Well done, Peter, oh well done! Follow it up, quick!" and watching as every dream seemed to come true as his uncle, his father's murderer, fell back before the High King's sword.

But King Edmund's cheers changed to encouragement, voice strained, as Miraz started fighting back. He and Caspian grew white with sickening anxiety.

"Peter is taking some dreadful knocks," said Edmund.

"Hullo!" said Caspian. "What's happening now?" It seemed like the two had stopped fighting, and he wondered for an instant if there'd be a truce.

"Both falling apart," said Edmund. "A bit blown, I expect. Watch. Ah, now they're beginning again, more scientifically this time. Circling round and round, feeling each other's defenses."

Caspian held his breath as they continued, and cheered with the rest of Narnia as King Peter drew first blood, excitedly telling Doctor Cornelius about the hero's triumph. But King Edmund was frowning.

"It's looking ugly again now, though. Peter's not using his shield properly. He must be hurt in the left arm." Even Caspian knew the importance of the shield, for though it could not win the victory, it staved off defeat and kept the King alive.

"You've seen more battles than I," said Caspian. "Is there any chance now?"

"Precious little," said Edmund. "I suppose he might _just_ do it. With luck."

"Oh, why did we let it happen at all?" said Caspian. Wasn't Aslan supposed to stop things like this? Weren't Narnia's legends supposed to continue?

There wasn't time to doubt more; the two duelists took a break, and King Edmund took Doctor Cornelius to go see Peter, instructing Caspian to calm the Narnians and explain things to them. When Caspian returned, King Edmund said nothing, and Doctor Cornelius shook his head when Caspian started to ask questions.

But the new bout went well. King Peter fought as if he were a child and Miraz was It, making the pretender work and work and tire. Caspian, heart in his mouth, prayed and prayed to Aslan to help Peter win. And it seemed to be working.

But the Telmarines noticed, and started jeering and mocking. Caspian felt a rush of anger. Didn't they know this was the _High King_? Their jeers were demands, telling King Peter to stand his ground and fight.

"Oh, I do hope he won't listen to them," said Caspian.

"Not he," said Edmund. "You don't him—Oh!"—for Miraz had got in a blow at last, on Peter's helmet. Peter staggered, slipped sideways and fell on one knee. The roar of the Telmarines rose like the noise of the sea. "Now, Miraz," they yelled, "Now. Quick! Quick! Kill him." But indeed there was no need to egg the usurper on. He was on top of Peter already. Edmund bit his lips till the blood came, as the sword flashed down on Peter, and Caspian closed his eyes. It looked as if it would slash of his head. Thank heavens! it had glanced down his right shoulder. The dwarf-wrought mail was sound and did not break.

"Great Scott," cried Edmund. "He's up again. Peter, go it, Peter."

"I couldn't see what happened," said the Doctor. "How did he do it?"

"Grabbed Miraz's arm as it came done," said Trumpkin, dancing with delight. "There's a man for you! Uses his enemy's arm as a ladder. The High King! The High King! Up, Old Narnia."

"Look," said Trufflehunter. "Miraz is angry. It is good."

They were certainly at it hammer and tongs now; such a flurry of blows that it seemed impossible for either not to be killed. As the excitement grew, the shouting almost died away. The spectators were holding their breath. It was most horrible and most magnificent.

Then Old Narnia shouted; Miraz had tripped and fallen, and Peter stepped back for him to rise. Caspian heard Edmund mutter to himself about being "a gentleman," but snapped his attention back to the battleground when two of his uncle's lords, Sopespian and another, jumped over the ropes while yelling "Treachery!" And then King Peter was yelling "Treachery!" as well, calling Narnia to arms, and Caspian ran forward to help the High King, sword out, and all of Old Narnia behind him. King Edmund was at his brother's side; giant Wimbleweather stepped over the Narnians in one long stride and swung his club at the Telmarine army; and overhead Caspian heard the swish of his dwarfs' arrows. He ducked under an enemy sword, swinging his up and around; how thrusting forward into a soldier he didn't know. He moved to the next but the soldier fell before he reached him, and three mice were on him instantly, swords drawn.

Caspian never reached the next soldier. The Telmarine army turned white, gazed in terror not on the Old Narnians but on something behind them, and then flung down their weapons, shrieking, "The Wood! The Wood! The end of the world!" And Caspian caught his breath and lost it again the next moment, as a roar as loud as the ocean filled his ears and the godlike beings he had seen rushed through the Old Narnian army and towards the Telmarines, chasing them towards the great river. Caspian watched them go in awe. The stories he had heard of ghosts in the wood were so much paler than the living, rushing, fury-filled Dryads. And they were a part of his Narnia, he realised with a slight quake. How was he to be king of these people?

A hand fell on his shoulder, and he turned to see King Peter, King Edmund as close as it was possible to be to his brother's side. The High King's eyes were stern. "Call your people," he instructed Caspian. "We go to the river. We musn't let them reach the town." Caspian nodded, remember the battle wasn't over yet. Trumpkin beside them yelled, his voice carrying, and got the Giant's attention; the giant's booming voice gathered the rest, and once again Narnia fell in behind its three kings as they ran flat out for the river. The wood had surrounded the Telmarines at the bank of the river, the soldiers gathered at the edge with white faces and knocking knees. And King Peter and King Edmund strode forward, and at the sight of them the Telmarines paused. Then one soldier threw down his sword, then another, and then the entire army started dropping their swords and surrendering, and Peter's army, still holding their weapons and breathing hard, stood round them with stern and glad faces. Caspian, in the middle of this, heard his name called, and turned, and dropped his own sword and ran forward, for there, somehow, by some miracle of Aslan's, was his old nurse.

And she met him with a hug, a laugh, and explosion on both sides of "the legends are _true_ ," "the legends are _here_ ," and she laughed again, and with her arm still round his shoulders, turned him to see the direction from which she had come, where there were two girls with living, laughing faces, a donkey, and most of all, a large, golden Lion.

It was Aslan.

OOOOO

Response to Anonymouseme: Hopefully the note at the beginning of this chapter clarified your concerns; thanks, again, for double checking things like that. It helps to keep the story wholly part of Lewis's world, and I value that.


	24. Chapter Eight: The Creator of the Legend

**Chapter Eight: The Creator of the Legends**

Disclaimer: Aslan belongs to Lewis, and Lewis belongs to God, and claiming any of this is mine is both absurd and foolish. Anything underlined is a direct quote from _Prince Caspian_.

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." Proverbs 13:12

A/N: There should be two or three more chapters, and then the story should be finished. They'll also probably be shorter than the past ones, as I'm trying to find a good way to group them. Sorry-it's a learning experience as a writer.

OOOOO

 _It was Aslan_.

It couldn't be any other. From the moment Caspian had heard His name, he had known something of the Lion. Seeing Him, he knew. This was Aslan. Of all the meetings Caspian had longed for, he had dreamed of meeting Aslan the most.

He had not, in his dreams, come near the truth. The great golden eyes were watching the Narnians, the nurse with her arm over his shoulder, and he himself, and in their gaze he found himself speechless, and yet at peace. It lasted for a moment. That moment was enough.

Then Aslan disappeared behind the bodies of the animals of Caspian's army as they surged round the Lion, with purrs and grut and squeaks and whinnies of delight, fawning on him with their tails, rubbing against him, touching him reverently with their noses and going to and fro under his body and between his legs. If you have ever seen a little cat loving a big dog whom it knowns and trusts, you will have a pretty good picture of their behavior. And Caspian's heart leaped with joy, for this, this was as it should be. This was Aslan dwelling among His own. _This_ was Narnia.

He ducked closer to his nurse, holding her tighter with one arm. He was as tall as she was now, he noticed. He had _missed_ her. A hand grabbed his from the other side, and he looked over to see King Peter.

"Come, Caspian," the High King said. "It is your right to meet Him." One more glance at his nurse, who smiled as widely as the strange Cheshire cats she told him about, and he followed the High King, who pushed his way through the animals till they were both before Aslan.

"This is Caspian, Sir," King Peter said.

And Caspian knelt and kissed the Lion's paw.

"Welcome, Prince," said Aslan. "Do you feel yourself sufficient to take up the Kingship of Narnia?"

Caspian thought for a fleeting moment of what he'd done so far, of how poorly the battles had gone till the two kings had come, of how he had run from his uncle's castle, of how he had needed Trumpkin, Trufflehunter, and Doctor Cornelius's advice for everything. "I—I don't think I do, Sir," he answered. "I'm only a kid."

"Good," said Aslan. "If you had felt yourself sufficient, it would have been a proof that you were not. Therefore, under us and under the High King, you shall be King of Narnia, Lord of Cair Paravel and Emperor of the Lone Islands. You and your heirs while your race lasts. And your coronation—but what have we here?"

Caspian, startled, obediently stepped to the side and turned where Aslan was looking. He saw a procession of mice, the boldest soldiers in Narnia and some of the bravest, covered in mud, blood, and utterly miserable. Their ears drooped and their tails dragged; one even had small tears running down his small grey face and through his whiskers. Caspian felt a piercing pain as he saw what they carried. Six of the tiny soldiers bore a litter of branches, on which lay what seemed little better than a damp heap of fur; all that was left of Reepicheep. He was still breathing, but more dead than alive, gashed with innumerable wounds, one paw crushed, and, where his tail had been, a bandaged stump.

"Now, Lucy," said Aslan. One of the girls-the queens, Caspian realised-who had stood beside Aslan had a shining bottle in her hand before Caspian noticed her, and knelt beside the litter the mice had placed on the grass. Caspian watched as she tilted the bottle and a single drop fell on one of the mouse's wounds, a deep hole in his side from the thrust of a sword. He caught his breathe in wonder as the wound closed, grey fur coming together, closing in welling red, and mending without a scar. The Queen had already moved on, two more drops on two other wounds; one of them finished closing as Caspian found it.

But the wounds were many, and there was a long and anxious silence before she finished.

But finish she did, and before Caspian could question whether it worked, Reepicheep sprang with a salute from what should have been his deathbed, bowing before the Highest of all High Kings. But in his salute he found he was still missing his tail, and with the faith of a mouse asked if anything could be done, by Queen Lucy or by Aslan Himself. And Caspian, listening, saw Aslan grant Reepicheep's request for the sake of the love between Reepicheep and his people, and wondered if Aslan would grant him grace to become as loved by the Narnians as Reepicheep was by the mice—even the Black Dwarfs.

"All in good time," he could hear his Nurse whisper in his mind. "All in good time." He looked at Aslan, and felt himself relax, just a bit. If Aslan could route the Telmarines, bring back the Kings and Queens, free Narnia, and bring his Nurse back, surely Aslan could help him be a good king. Aslan Himself had said that it was good Caspian did not feel like he was enough to be a king; surely that meant he would have Aslan's help.

But Aslan was speaking again, instructing Peter to bestow the Knighthood of the Order of the Lion on Caspian; Narnian kings were also knights. And Caspian, nearly trembling with excitement, knelt and looked up at the High King, who had unsheathed his sword. He stood in front of Caspian with a stern face but a smile in his eyes.

"Caspian, do you swear to follow the Lion wherever He leads?"

"I do." Caspian's voice was so high it sounded like Reepicheep's; he bit his lip and tried to steady it.

"Do you swear to obey every command He sends?"

"I do." That was a bit better. He saw his Nurse behind the High King, crying, and suddenly realised he should be paying attention to what he was swearing.

"Do you swear to care for the ones the Lion loves, and to put their needs before your own?"

"I do." It was the role of a king, Caspian realised, but Aslan must have known a king cannot rule alone, and thus a knighthood was made of those who would swear to do as a king should.

High King Peter's sword rested on his shoulders, and his head, then King Peter sheathed it.

"Rise, Caspian, knight of the Order of the Lion." He reached over and helped Caspian stand, smiling with his full face now, the smile of a king, a knight, and a hero. Caspian looked up at him, and felt the sword at his own side.

"King Peter, may I give this knighthood to others now?"

"It is yours to give," he responded, his eyes kind with understanding. Caspian looked over at the crowd, searching for the black and white face of his first full Narnian friend. In the sight of all the Narnians (and the Telmarines, who still shot terrified glances at the woods, and even more fearfilled glances at Aslan), he knight Trufflehunter, then Trumpkin, then Reepicheep, and called Doctor Cornelius forward to ask him to be the Lord Chancellor. At Aslan's prompting (and how he loved to hear that deep, humor-filled voice), he confirmed the BuglyBear as a Marshal of the Lists. That done, he turned to Aslan.

"What should we do now?" he asked. It was easier to speak to Aslan then he'd thought it would be; the love in the Lion's eyes made it easy to approach, even while His every presence inspired awe.

At Aslan's command, the Narnians took the Telmarine soldiers, firmly but without taunts or blows, over the river and into the town, and locked up, after being given beef and beer. Then came the celebration.

And Caspian watched, as his Narnians worked together, as Dryads gave wood for a fire, the dwarfs lit it, and the Maenads (he hadn't heard of them) danced to create a feast. For those who could not eat the food provided (such as the Dryads themselves), other Narnians helped (like moles overturning the earth).

Throughout the feast, his Nurse close on one side (they didn't want to leave yet), Caspian made his way through Narnians and learned, from listening to the Kings, Queens, and Aslan Himself, how to speak with them and love them. He heard Queen Susan's gentle voice inquiring about the winds and rain with the dryads, Queen Lucy laughing and dancing with the fauns (though not without a shadow on her face, gone in a moment, as if she remembered something—dispelled by the presence of the Lion as He came to her and purred something Caspian could not hear), King Edmund discussing land and rights and places for smithies with the Dwarfs, King Peter talking of grazing and freedom and running with the Horses. Even just listening, he started to form a picture of Narnia as it had been.

As it should be. As he swore, internally, that with Aslan's help it would be again.

Doctor Cornelius had been listening too. Later, when the Nurse and Caspian stopped to eat, his Tutor found them and bowed, looking first at the Nurse. "And so," he said quietly to her, "the Narnia that was tucked away as an etching on a coin is set free again." He smiled. "And your own Caspian king of it, at the bidding of Aslan Himself." Caspian looked from his Nurse to his Tutor, and his Nurse turned to him with a smile.

"We met once," she said in her old, deep, kind voice. "And he gave me faith when I had none." She gestured to a nearby log. "Come and be welcome. Were you looking for us?"

"I was looking for my king," Doctor Cornelius—the Lord Chancellor now—responded. "So, Your Majesty, what have you learned?" And King Caspian smiled, for this question and routine were familiar and good, and yet made even better by the Narnians about them, the fire, the food, and Aslan nearby.

He talked and learned and listened late into the night, till at his Nurse's bidding he took a place near the fire and went to sleep, to wake the next morning to a Narnia that would be his.

And free.

And where Aslan Himself would be beside him.


	25. Chapter Nine: Narnia at Peace

**Chapter Nine: Narnia at Peace**

Disclaimer: Since I'm still rather astonished at what this story became now that we're nearing the ending, it would be utter hubris for me to claim the beginnings of it as my own. They're not; very little of this chapter is.  
Anything underlined is a direct quote from Lewis, either from _Prince Caspian_ or _The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_.

A/N: Though I mention them little on here, I do want to thank everyone who reviewed, especially readers who did so consistently. That encouragement is what made sure I posted consistently; and that has, hopefully, also made me better as a writer. So my heartfelt thanks, here in an author's note, because I'm not sure what the best way to thank you is.  
And yes, this is very long. I wasn't expecting it to be, but I'm not sure how to cut it down more without leaving some promises I made unfulfilled; so I will ask your pardon instead.

 **Updated 03/04: Calyn was kind enough to point out that, as Aslan instructs Edmund and Lucy at the end of _Voyage_ to find Him in their world, Edmund really shouldn't be able to point to a story like King David's that identified Aslan in their world. I'm grateful for the correction, and as I didn't want to remove it completely, I hope I reword it to be ambiguous enough that it fits with the canon. **

OOOOO

The very next morning Caspian woke, and was called by Trufflehunter to a meeting of kings and council. They would summon all the talking Squirrels and Birds ("They really do make the best messengers, Caspian," said King Peter, and Queen Lucy interjected, "And they love being trusted with news, they really do") and send them all over Narnia. Most would be sent to the Telmarines, letting them know that Caspian was their king. (And who would argue with that, Caspian thought, with Aslan standing next to him and affirming his rule?). But the messengers also declared that Narnia belonged to the Talking Beasts and the Dwarfs and Dryads and Fauns and other creatures quite as much as to the men. Caspian had been surprised at the wording - surely he would be the only human in Narnia? But a look at Aslan's grave face settled his mind; if Aslan could make the descendent of the Telmarines a king, He would surely also take the Telmarines who wanted to stay. A few of the messengers would be sent, at Aslan's direction, to pockets of Narnians that no one at Beruna had known still existed, to let them know that Narnia was free once again.

But that left the problem of the Telmarines who would hate this new Narnia. (Caspian's Narnia. That was still a daunting thought.) And the council turned to Aslan, waiting for His judgement; and He gave it. The messengers would be told to proclaim that anyone who did not want to live in this new Narnia would be given a new home; one Aslan would provide. They would have five days to decide.

The messengers were summoned and sent, bouncing, twittering, and gossiping, many born in the arms of the Dryads who had gathered close to hear. The Dryads launched the birds in the air with a graceful swoop of their arms, bowed, and then dispersed to the river to speak with their cousins the Naiads, and the squirrels leaped from their heads to their homes in the trees, and the few great Cats who had been selected bounded away, and the rest of the council also bowed, and turned to go walk in their new home. The four ( _the four_ , Caspian still marveled that they were here) looked from Aslan's face to Caspian's, and King Peter jerked his head at his siblings, and they also bowed to Aslan, the boys clasping a friendly hand on his arm, the girls smiling at him, and then they too left. Caspian stared at the ground, quiet, willing to do Aslan's will but not quite sure why he was here.

"There is still work for you to do," said the grave, deep, golden voice of the Lion, and Caspian looked up. "You are not the only one to have suffered during your uncle's reign. As King, you must give them justice as well."

"Who, Aslan?" Caspian asked.

"There were those who stood by your father, and your mother, and either fell to Miraz's soldiers or were imprisoned, robbed, or banished." And Caspian remembered, so long ago it seemed like he was a child hearing it, Doctor Cornelius telling him of the lords who had known his father executed, shot with arrows, sent to fight giants; but then there were "The two brothers of Beaversdam [Miraz] shut up as madmen. And finally he persuaded the seven noble lords, who alone among all the Telmarines did not fear the sea, to sail away and look for new lands beyond the Eastern Ocean."

"Beaversdam," he said, looking at Aslan. "That—that's not far," remembering the adventures he and his nurse had pretended to be going on. The great Lion nodded. "Oh, Aslan, I'll free them at once. I'll go there today. But the others—the seven—they're not dead, right? Can I help them?" He pictured meeting them, listening to them, about their stories of his father and maybe his mother. They had to be alive, right?

Aslan said nothing, and Caspian thought for a moment. He remembered, vaguely, a celebration where a ship went out to sea, and the great, glorious blue of the ocean that had promised limitless adventure and exploration, and his heart beat faster. "Aslan, can I go after them?"

"You must attend to your duties here first," the Lion said, his voice a low growl of warning. "But, once [you] establish peace in Narnia, you may follow them—for a limited time, King Caspian—and see if you can give justice to them as well."

"For how long, Aslan?" Caspian asked, wondering how long it would take to establish peace. The idea of sailing into the sea caught his heart with the same strength the tales of Old Narnia had.

"Kings once swore to a task for a year and a day," the Lion responded. "But that is for the future, King Caspian. There is justice you may deliver now, for two brothers who have waited for years." And Caspian bowed, understanding Aslan's dismissal, and left quickly, eager to go on another adventure. But Beaversdam was too far to walk; Caspian went to find his horse Destrier. He found him already saddled right next to King Edmund, another horse nearby. King Edmund offered Caspian the reins with a careless, "Would you like company?" Caspian acquiesced gladly-the company of any of the four was welcome. The two swung up and settled in their saddles-and were confronted by a glaring Trumpkin, arms crossed in front of them.

"And where might you two be going?" he demanded.

"I'm not sure yet, D.L.F.," King Edmund responded cheerfully. "But Peter asked me to stay with Caspian today—said something about Caspian learning what it's like for a king to get into trouble, and all that rot." Caspian blinked. Surely King Edmund was joking? "Why, you coming with?"

"Until it's clear the old Telmarines have no intentions of killing my king, yes," the dwarf snapped back.

"Well, let's have your hand, then," King Edmund said, reaching down as he bent over. Trumpkin looked at him like he'd grown another head.

"A dwarf _walks_ ," he spluttered. "We're sons of _Earth_ , thank you very much, and we don't travel six feet above it." He looked at Caspian. "Where to, your majesty?"

"Beaversdam," Caspian responded, watching King Edmund out of the corner of eye, and seeing a grin on his face. He realised that King Edmund might have known Trumpkin would refuse. The two horses fell in after the stomping steps of the red Dwarf, and Caspian whispered to Edmund, "Do dwarfs not like to ride?"

"Not full size horses," King Edmund murmured back. "In our time they'd ride ponies if they had to, but not much else." He grinned. "It's good to see some thing about Narnia haven't changed."

For King Edmund they may not have changed; but as they rode through Beruna, Caspian watched with wonder as his old world and new melded together into something very much changed. In the streets were many of the younger Telmarines, laughing and talking and making friends with the creatures. A golden-haired girl, perhaps four years younger than Caspian, ran out to Trumpkin and laid a hand on his arm. "You're a dwarf!" she cried with excitement, and Trumpkin gave her a half-glare even as his mouth twitched.

"That I am," he said. "What of it?" She smiled wider, but anything she would have said was lost as an older woman appeared in the doorway of the closest house, calling "Alissel!" And the girl giggled and left, leaving Edmund and Caspian grinning at each other at Trumpkin's discomfort. He noticed.

"Let's get going, your majesties," he growled, pushing onward. They left the town behind soon, and King Edmund passed the next few hours teaching Caspian about the laws that ruled Narnia in their time, with Trumpkin listening and interjecting whenever he felt like it.

They weren't stories, but it was still one of the best afternoons Caspian had lived, King Edmund on his right, dryads greeting them from the trees, and dwarfish common sense aimed at him from below. It seemed, on this ride, almost as if he could be a king.

"Were you ever nervous?" he asked Edmund, during a moment of silence. King Edmund looked at him quizzically. "I meant—being king." He trailed off, but Edmund seemed to understand.

"Yes," the older boy responded seriously, Trumpkin listening below. "Especially as time went on, and we had reputations of being the founders of the Golden Age. It was a lot of weight on our shoulders—even with four of us—but we spoke about it one time, and Lucy reminded us it wasn't our doing, it was Aslan's. Back when we first began to rule, Su told us a story, a legend from our own world, of a king who started as a shepherd. He defeated a giant with only a sling, became one of the greatest of kings in legend, and ruled and wrote songs for years upon years. But the funny thing about the story was that it gave no credit to the king, but to the one it said made him king. It was almost like they knew our Aslan." He paused. "I should go back and find that story, in our own world, sometime. Anyway, the point was he'd been an ordinary boy, a shepherd, before someone greater than himself came along. And that's true in Narnia too. It is always Aslan who makes extraordinary tales out of ordinary people. Even us." He smiled at Caspian. "Even out of boys and girls who are too young to rule and nervous about doing so."

"And there'll be plenty who'll remind your majesty that there's nothing special about _you_ , 'cept being Aslan's chosen," came Trumpkin's gruff voice. Caspian looked at the two of them and relaxed; even laughed.

"You're right," he said. "It's Aslan who makes all the difference."

They reached Beaversdam a few hours before the sun set, and found the birds and squirrels had already been here. And that there were none, not a single man, woman, or child, who was anything but delighted with the changes in Narnia. They welcomed King Caspian with cries of joy; a few had even heard of King Edmund, and watched him with wonder. They mixed with the dryads fearlessly, and Caspian, as he looked around, wondered why. He walked around his horse and found King Edmund looking around too, watching the people with his penetrating gaze.

"This reminds me of the Lord Perdain's lands," he said quietly, still intently watching the people. He gave his reins into the hands of a teenage boy with a nod of thanks. "A place ruled so well it lifts up everyone who lives in it." He looked over at Caspian. "Why are we here?"

"There's two lords here, two brothers." Caspian hesitated. "I think my Uncle locked them up as madmen, but they were friends of my father." King Edmund waited, just a moment, eyes still sharp, then nodded.

"Well, on with it then." Caspian took a deep breath, then turned towards the crowds in front of them.

"Good people of Narnia," he started, remembering just in time not to call them Telmarines. Aslan, help him with this. "I have heard that years ago my uncle, the Usurper Miraz, wrongfully imprisoned the two Lords of Beaversdam. At Aslan's bidding, I have come to restore them to freedom and their lands. I ask for a guide to show us the way to their prison."

The crowd in front of him murmured, soft conversations with each other. They didn't die away, and Caspian shifted, wondering if he should speak again. But King Edmund put a hand on his arm. "Wait," was the quiet command. And Caspian waited.

The seconds felt like minutes, like the conversations would never end. The crowd was more restless, paying less attention to the royalty right in front of them. Wasn't a king supposed to take charge? He glanced at King Edmund, and found the king's eyes were on the back of the crowd. Caspian looked, and saw a small commotion, a group of people ringed around something, appearing to be restraining it. Trumpkin, standing to the side and too short to see what they were looking at, grumbled under his breath. Caspian looked at Edmund, who was taller. "What is it?"

"I think it's two men, arguing," Edmund replied. The crowd in front of them was turning, looking back to whatever had attracted their attention, and Edmund stepped forward. "Let's go see, shall we?"

Trumpkin went first, his sturdy dwarf arms pushing aside people who wouldn't move, till they reached the out edge of the commotion.

"We trust them," Caspian heard a voice say.

"And you've a 'abit of jumping 'eadfirst into trouble, you 'ave," an angry voice responded. "An three years it took, to get you out of it last! 'ow do you ken e's not like 'is uncle?"

"He has his father's voice and trick of speech, even so young!" Caspian stopped, surprised. Did they mean him? But Edmund, with an impatient look, grabbed his arm and pulled him farther forward, trying to push between two solidly built older ladies who were shaking their heads.

"And," added another, slightly older voice, "by the Lion's decree he is our king, and we owe him our allegiance, regard-" the voice broke off. Edmund had made it into the circle, hauling Caspian with him. In the middle were two men, clad in light armor made mostly of leather, the older with a grey beard and a young face, and the younger clean-shaven with a smile that reminded Caspian of Lucy's. The two were looking directly at the kings.

They knelt, eyes down, on one knee. Around them, in a spreading wave, those they ruled knelt as well, to the king their lords' acknowledged.

"Welcome, Caspian, King of Narnia," said the older. With a sideways glance at Edmund, Caspian stepped forward.

"Are you the Lords of Beaversdam?"

"We are, your majesty," the younger man said, looking up. "And we're terribly glad you've come to free us, as that legalises what our people did on their own, several years ago." Caspian heard King Edmund chuckle beside him.

"And have your lands been restored?" he asked, remembering some of Edmund's legal lessons on the way over.

The brothers hesitated, looking at each other.

"In a manner of speaking, your majesty," the elder said at last. "We've been ruling again since we were freed—settling disputes and such—and our people brought us what we need, but we haven't entered our home since our imprisonment; it could've brought punishment on our people, if Miraz had discovered we were free."

"Not that we were there much anyway before," the youngest added.

"Then I hereby restore your home and thank you for continuing in the faithful exercise of your authority," Caspian said. "And please get up; you're as tall as I am, kneeling." And both brothers grinned, and came forward to clasp their king's hand, inviting him and his two companions to their newly restored home for a celebration that night. Caspian heard more stories of his father than he had heard in the rest of his life, as well as tales of parts of Narnia he had never heard before. The following day the two escorted their kings back to Beruna, and there met Aslan, kneeling before him and receiving his "Well done, good and faithful servants."

There were a few other people to restore things to, and a castle to put to the use of the group of kings and queens; Caspian's nurse and Doctor Cornelius helped him reward the faithful (especially the servants), comfort the grieving, and draw the rest of the willing Telmarines into fellowship with the Old Narnians, over the next few days.

The unwilling Telmarines (about half of them) gathered up their courage to take Aslan's offer of a new home, and met him after those five days at the appointed place, where Aslan had caused .

There, Caspian stood with Aslan and Peter in front of two stakes of wood, higher than a man's head and about three feet apart. A third, and lighter, piece of wood was bound across the at the top uniting them, so that the whole thing looked like a doorway from nowhere into nowhere. Behind them were the council (the Lords of Beaversdam now included), and the other kings and queens. And there, Caspian heard Aslan tell a legend he had never heard, of how the Telmarines first came into Narnia, from the same world as King Peter. He heard they had come as pirates, Sons of Adam though they were (and therefore able to be kings), and lived and drank and looted and ran, till they fell through from their own world into Narnia, and lived there till they forgot their own world. And he felt the shame of such a past, standing so close to the Lion who had made all things good, and wished he'd somehow descended from King Gale or something like that instead. But Aslan was speaking to him.

"Do you mark all this well, King Caspian?"

"I do indeed, Sir," said Caspian. "I was wishing that I came of a more honourable lineage."

"You come of the Lord Adam and the Lady Eve," said Aslan. "And that is both honour enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor on earth. Be content."

Caspian bowed, content with Aslan's words, and remembering Edmund's, that Aslan made legends out of boys and girls.

And he had need to remember, a few minutes later, when Aslan's plan unfolded, and he learned that the four were to go through the doorway as well (and _vanish_ , which was as magical as any of the legends he had heard), and they changed into the odd, flat attire they had brought from their own world. The world they were going back to. And Caspian, for a moment, wanted to try the door for himself, just to get a glimpse of their world, the odd place where they were just boys and girls. But that wasn't Aslan's plan, and he waited, with his council, and cheered the kings and queens, said goodbye, and watched them disappear, along with most of the problem Telmarines. And then Aslan, with his great, commanding goodness, ordered the doorway dismantled and burned, and Caspian crowned. After the coronation, Aslan bestowed the Highest of all High King's blessing on Caspian, and left himself.

Caspian, looking around at his council, drew himself up. "Come on," he said quietly. "Let's go back home, and see if we can put Narnia to peace." For that was his next goal, one Aslan would help him towards. And after that?

After that, he thought, would come more adventures, ones at sea.

Adventures that might even become legends of their own.

OOOOO

Response to Anonymousme: Thank you, so much, for pointing out the typo. They always bother me in other stories, but alas! I'm not very proficient at finding them in my own. So thank you, again, for that, and for your encouragement.

Only the epilogue to go now! Do you know the story is at 97 pages? That kind of boggles my mind.


	26. The Nurse's Epilogue

**Chapter Ten: And There Were Legends  
** An Epilogue for the Nurse (You hadn't forgotten about her, had you?)

Disclaimer: The story hasn't been mine from beginning to end; you surely didn't think that'd change now?

A/N: I tried to tie up most of the loose ends in the last chapter, but I had an idea that begged to be written; if you would, tell me what you think of it, and whether the story is added to or whether it should just be left without this epilogue?

OOOOO

The nurse walked back into the castle years after she'd walked down the road and left it behind. She walked into a courtyard of animals (talking), lords, and servants, readying things to move, distributing as needed, or waiting for an opportunity to see their king. It was chaos; so much more chaos than it had been when she left.

But she looked around and smiled. She was at peace where before there'd been pain, and the hopes she had cherished had become sight, and with sight, joy. She'd watched her Caspian rule Narnia like it was made for him, even if the throne itself was a bit big for him yet. An oversight she hoped would be rectified at Cair Paravel, since the four had begun ruling as children. After much debate, the council had decided to move there, the dryads helping to show ways paths could be cleared, and the dwarfs plying their skill to rebuild the ruin. Doctor Cornelius had been overjoyed at the crumbling library; Trumpkin reassured at the royal treasury ("We'll never be bankrupt, not with this lot"); and Trufflehunter satisfied that they were returning to the place most animals ("Especially badgers—we hold on") would remember.

She shook herself, looking around the courtyard for Caspian, who would be small among the teeming bodies. There, by the centaurs, listening. Listening politely, she was glad to see. He still had the manners of a prince. He looked so involved in the move. Caspian, whose fear of ghosts had vanished when he met the dryads, looked forward to it eagerly. His face had lit with the joy she remembered from her golden child, when he discussed the move with her after the council, and she'd chuckled and told him the story of it being built, during the reign of the third king, whose brother had fallen in love with a mermaid. The king had built the Cair near the sea to be near his brother, and because it looked towards the way Aslan came.

Caspian, turning, saw her and smiled-that golden smile. She hobbled over and walked with him; he went through the doorway and into the closest room, sitting down on the scarlet couch with a sigh, gesturing her to join him. For a just a few minutes, a few precious minutes he was her Caspian again, a child listening with a look of wonder and curiosity.

But then a squirrel bounded through the door, jumping on the dark wood of a dresser and sitting up at attention. The council had wanted to discuss how the roads in Narnia would be kept up, since Narnia wasn't populated enough for neighbors to maintain the roads they lived on. Caspian straightened, instantly less of a child, and she chuckled and bid him go. Her Caspian was a king now, and it did her heart good to see him becoming a true one, thank Aslan.

Thank Aslan indeed. She paused in a corridor, leaning against the wall and watching him walk away. She'd never thought about it much, since seeing him crowned (and how different that had been than she'd feared; she hadn't been sitting in the audience, trying to see if he still loved Old Narnia; she'd been one of the first to receive his kingly blessing, with a badger, dwarf, half-dwarf, and two lords who loved Aslan), but all her old fears, her worries that she hadn't been enough—they'd been proven untrue. Scared as she had been, timid as she had been, hushing Caspian's least whisper of Old Narnia outside their storytimes, it had still been enough. Enough to open his heart to Old Narnia, and to long for it to come back. Aslan had worked that, and from that, had come this. Narnia restored; free, full, and bursting with life. And the King of Narnia about to return to the Cair.

She turned away, going back through the once-familiar passages of the castle to his old nursery, one he hadn't set foot in, she didn't think. He wouldn't want much from it, but some things - the dragon toy his mother'd sent, the blanket traditionally given to a newborn prince, that she'd pack for him. She paused before crossing the nursery, and added the story chair to the growing pile in the middle of the room. She'd take that with her, even if it was just for her. And the stool was added to it a moment later, though it wasn't as easy to move as it had been. Aslan brought her back to life, but it wouldn't be forever, she thought with an inward groan at her aching joints.

And what was she to do, now that her Caspian was grown? Her hands froze over the gold circlet she was folding into a velvet navy cloth. She'd loved watching - it'd been so busy -

She hadn't considered that she hadn't a purpose anymore. Allowing Caspian to be a child again, sure, but that wouldn't last forever. He was growing up.

And glad as she was to see it, she was a nurse, and he'd keep her near, for his love, but love didn't give her something to do. People her age usually had grandchildren, but Caspian wouldn't be giving her grandchildren anytime soon. And Alissel and her siblings were even younger. What was she to do?

Her hands resumed folding the cloth. This, at least, she could do. And maybe she'd become Narnia's storyteller, she thought to herself, though she couldn't picture actual Dwarfs, Fauns, and Talking Beasts listening to her tales about them when they surely had their own renditions. Who would she even tell her stories to?

A call from the hallway interrupted her; her Caspian's voice, calling "Nurse!" She moved (slower now than ever, she really was getting old) and pulled herself up the step into the hallway. He was far down it, something cradled in both arms, and a worried look on his face.

A look that melted into relief when he saw her. "Nurse," he called, his voice not quite so loud, and he rocked the bundle of blankets in his arms; she realised it was a baby. "I—wasn't sure what to do with him," he said, looking down at the bundle in his arms. "When I found out about him, I asked King Peter and the other three, and they said to make sure he's taken good care of. And I did, I gave him to a motherly badger, but she's got her own kits now, born yesterday, and I don't know who else to ask. They—might not like him. After his father..." He trailed off, and the nurse peered more closely at the baby. She started.

He had dark red hair. Dark red, like a certain unpleasant former queen. She looked back up at Caspian.

"My aunt didn't want the bother of raising a baby," he whispered, his voice sad as he looked down at his cousin, and the nurse wondered if he remembered the love his own mother had shown him, once she'd finished grieving. And she remembered Prunaprismia's disdain for children, and ceased to wonder that she'd leave the child behind. "She wasn't queen anymore, no one took care of the baby for her. So she _left him._ " He looked at his nurse. "Can you care for him? Like you did me?"

There were so many objections to that. They flashed through the mind of Caspian's nurse at once. She was too old. (She was, now. She'd been dying before Aslan healed her.) She already raised a child. She'd then helped to raised an entire brood. She was a _grandmotherly_ age now.

The baby started to cry. Well, a grandmother could do this, at least. She held out her arms for it, Caspian hastily giving his cousin up, though he stayed nearby with his eyebrows drawn in concern.

He'd already started to love the child, the nurse realised, and looking down, thought she might be too. It was, after all, just a child. "Come into the nursery, then, and help me pack for him. If your majesty has time?" she added quickly, remembering that, after all, her Caspian was her king. But he grinned up at her with his familiar, golden grin, and darted into his old nursery. By the time the nurse had hobbled through the doorway, he'd pulled the story chair away from the pile and had it ready for her to sit in. She sat, rocking the baby, then looked back at Caspian. He had an expectant look.

"Yes, my king?"

"I remember Mother told me, one time, that she whispered to me of Narnia when I was born," he said hesitantly. "Maybe you could do the same for my cousin? Tell him stories?" Her mouth twitched in a well-hidden smile. "I'll pack while you do," he added quickly. "Just tell me what you need, if I forget anything, and you sit and tell Edmund stories."

"Edmund?" she asked, surprised. Caspian nodded.

"I named him that because he'll be the closest thing I have to a younger brother," he added seriously. "And I think my younger brother should know about Narnia, don't you Nurse?"

She looked down at the baby in her arms. "Very well, Edmund. Once upon a time, a young prince was born, tenth in his line. He had a father and mother who loved him—not that, your majesty, he won't need that many toys. Pack tunics instead, babies need quite a lot of them. And then, little prince, this boy's mother whispered to him, _Welcome, my next king of Narnia…"_

OOOOO

Response to Anonymousme: I made it to page 100. The OCD part of me is very happy the story stopped there! I'd left myself a note about the Lords of Beaversdam; I might have forgotten about them myself otherwise. But the more I wrote them, the more I loved them, so I'm glad I had the note! This particular story was built around the theme of legends, and I'm not sure I could keep that up through _The Voyage_. But it'd be fun to try, so maybe? I have three or four one-shots I'd like to write first, and I'll probably do one a week, so if I did work on a sequel it wouldn't be for another month. (That way I also have time to work on the novel I'd like to get published in a couple of years.) But once those prompts are taken care of, I'll consider it, I promise. Thank you, so much, for sticking with this story till the end, and catching things. That was incredibly helpful.

Response to Guest: Thank you, for all your reviews. I'll admit, I was closely concerned with the story keeping to the canon, so I'm glad it succeeded! And I'm glad you liked Grittlekir, she was someone I enjoyed as well. I'm also impressed by your reading; the reviews were left over the period of at least two hours, so thank you for taking so much time! And thank you for reading and reviewing.


End file.
